


A Dance in Heaven

by CobaltDreams



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Drama & Romance, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:31:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltDreams/pseuds/CobaltDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermes, an orphan, is a mailman who goes by the name of Angelo. On his mail route, he meets a model who bears a striking resemblance to Apollon. And as if that wasn't enough, another man walks into his life - a man whose very aura is bewitching. Could he be falling for them both? And what's with the weird IM's he's been getting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Story Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that I chose to refer to the Greek god commonly referred to as "Apollo" as "Apollon" in this particular story, as "Apollon" is the proper Greek name (Apollo being the proper Roman one). I am not trying to say that it is wrong to refer to him as Apollo, simply that I wrote it differently for this story. Thank you :) This is a completed work and can also be found on FanFiction under the same username, though I will be posting additional scenes here that I am unable to on FF.

The orphanage where he had grown up was on his mail route; therefore, he drove past it six days a week. It was a place he tried not to look at. It brought back memories that he would much rather forget. It was also where he had first learned just how different he was.

He had always been stronger than the other children, as well as much smarter. He had been teased for his ability to learn faster than anyone else. By the time he was fourteen, his intelligence had exceeded that of his teachers.

Learning wasn't the only thing he was fast at. Despite being rather short, he had yet to encounter someone who could outrun him. Speed was something that came to him naturally. He loved to feel the wind rush through his hair as he ran, and to imagine his feet leaving the ground. It was exhilarating.

After he finished high school, he put his name on the waiting list to get a job with the postal service. It was several months before they called him with an offer, and even longer before he actually started work, but eventually he was given a route, a uniform, and a bag in which to carry his mail.

His route ran through one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city. The houses reminded him of miniature castles. The neighborhood had been constructed back in the early twentieth century; therefore, the mailboxes were the old-fashioned kind built right next to the front door.

As he walked up to the first massive house, he thought of his tiny apartment with amusement. He'd probably get lost in one of these places. Well, maybe not; he had a very keen sense of direction.

Although it was early in the day, the sun was already hot and bright. He pulled the visor on his baseball cap further down in an attempt to shield his eyes and squinted at the number of the next house. Ornate gold numbers read 1465. He strode up the front walk, pulling out the proper bundle of mail as he did so. The pile of mail was as thick as a textbook. He casually glanced down at the stack, noticing that there was a subscription for Gentlemen's Quarterly magazine on top. The male on the cover was a handsome blond. His eyes were startlingly blue, making Angelo suspect that the model might wear colored contact lenses. He wore a button-up black shirt, which contrasted sharply with his mane of curly golden hair.

Angelo almost jumped out of his skin when the front door opened, and he realized that he had been standing there for several moments. He was even more shocked when he saw who had opened the door. It was the same man on the cover of the magazine, and he looked extremely bemused.

"Is there a reason you're standing on my front porch reading my mail?" he questioned in a melodic voice that could probably make famous singers cry.

Before Angelo had a chance to answer, the blond held out a well-manicured hand in a silent demand to be given his mail. Angelo complied, handing it over sheepishly.

"Who are you, anyway?" the man from the magazine asked, peering at the chagrined mailman as though he were an insect under a microscope.

"I'm the new mailman," he said, ridiculously, since the uniform he was wearing made that obvious. After a moment Angelo hesitantly asked, "What's your name?"

The man snorted and held out the magazine, tapping the cover. "You were staring at my picture for ten minutes and didn't bother to look at my name?"

Sure enough, in big block letters right next to the picture of the handsome blond were the words: Phoebus Lambrinos: The next Mark Vanderloo?

"Phoebus Lambrinos?" he questioned, trying not to smirk. "'Phoebus'? Like the captain from that Disney movie about the hunchback? Do your parents hate you or something?"

"Yes, exactly. I'm sure The Hunchback of Notre Dame is precisely what my parents had in mind when they named me." His words were practically dripping with sarcasm. "Now why don't you stop snickering at my name and tell me yours?"

Angelo smirked up at the tall blond. "My name's Angelo. Kind of boring and not at all Disney-inspired, but..."

"That's not a very popular name around here," Phoebus interrupted. "Are you sure your parents don't hate you?"

"I actually don't know my parents," Angelo said easily. "I grew up in an orphanage. The people there are the ones who named me."

"Is 'Angelo' the only name you've ever had, or did you have a different name when you arrived at the orphanage?" Phoebus questioned, the corners of his mouth turning up like he knew something he shouldn't.

What an odd question for a stranger to ask. "Actually, I did have a different name," Angelo replied, looking at him suspiciously. "It used to be Hermes."

There was a strange look on Phoebus's face that Angelo couldn't quite interpret, but it was there for only a split second before it was replaced by a smirk. "Looks like I'm not the only one with a strange name."

"It's not my name anymore," Angelo snapped, his light-hearted mood instantly evaporating. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have mail to deliver."

This time, both of the model's eyebrows rose. "I never asked you to stay. I have better things to do than chat with talkative mailmen, you know."

Angelo snorted in annoyance as he turned to leave, muttering something about stupid, audacious models under his breath. He missed the small smile that was playing on Phoebus's lips.

***

When Angelo got home, it was already late in the afternoon. He took a quick shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stuffed a frozen meal in the microwave. While it was cooking, he pulled out his laptop and opened his email account. He had one message from Alexander, his best friend from high school.

 _Anie,_ it read. _We need to hang out sometime. You get a job yet? Call me. –Alex_

Angelo rolled his eyes at the short message, but typed a reply nonetheless.

Just as he was getting ready to close the page, an instant message popped up in the corner of the screen.

 ** _Acestor7:_** Hello. 

Angelo frowned at the message, wondering if it would be a good idea to answer. After a moment he shrugged and replied:

 ** _Dolios:_** Do I know you? 

Acestor – whoever he was – didn't reply right away, so Angelo got up to retrieve his food from the microwave. He rummaged around for a fork, and then made his way back to the computer. There was a reply from Acestor.

 ** _Acestor7:_** No, but I saw your username and thought it was interesting. Do you know what it means? 

Once again, Angelo frowned at the screen.

 ** _Dolios:_** Of course I know what it means. 

In fact, Dolios was a nickname that his friend John had given him. John was focusing on Ancient Greek studies in college, and Dolios translated to 'the schemer'. Angelo had always been a trouble-maker in school.

Angelo forked a piece of ravioli and chewed while he waited on a response.

 ** _Acestor7:_** So are you a schemer? 

**_Dolios:_** Why do you care? 

But a reply never came. After an hour, Angelo gave up waiting and shut the laptop. He went to bed wondering about Acestor's odd question – and wondering who Acestor was.

***

When he arrived at 1465 the next day, Phoebus was working in the garden. The top half of the blond was invisible, hidden in a large lavender bush. His jeans were covered in grass and mud stains.

"Ahem," Angelo coughed.

Phoebus crawled backwards until his head appeared. His hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. Sweat beaded his forehead and mud was streaked across his cheeks. He smiled when he saw Angelo.

"Ah, my nosy mailman. Could you perhaps go ahead and put that in the mailbox? I'm a little busy."

"I'm not nosy. You are," Angelo grumbled with a scowl, but trudged up to the mailbox anyway. Then he turned and watched as Phoebus continued to prune the bush. "Couldn't you pay someone to do that?" he asked, not understanding why anyway would stick their head in foliage if they didn't absolutely have to, no matter how good it smelled.

"Yes, I could. But I like being in touch with nature," was the muffled response.

Angelo continued to stand there until Phoebus once again pulled his head out of the bush. This time he was wearing an amused smile. "Don't you have mail to deliver? Or are you enjoying looking at my butt?"

Angelo scowled even harder than before and began to walk away without replying.

"Wait!" Phoebus called after him. There was a laugh in his voice. "I haven't offered to take you out to dinner! It's only polite if you insist on checking me out..."

"I'm straight," Angelo snapped over his shoulder.

"If you say so," Phoebus muttered as he turned back to his bush.

***

The next day, Angelo skipped Phoebus's house, deciding to return to it at the end of his route. He had questions he wanted to ask the model and wanted plenty of time to do it.

But Phoebus wasn't alone when he answered the door. Another ridiculously handsome man was by his side. He had white-blond hair, eyes that were a cross between green and blue, and a haughty expression. "Can we help you?" the stranger asked, placing a hand on his hip as he eyed Angelo's uniform. "Do you really need to knock on the door to deliver the mail?"

Phoebus rolled his eyes. "Leave him alone, 'Seidon. He's a friend."

"Friends with the mailman? I didn't know you'd gone slumming," the stranger muttered, shoving past Phoebus and Angelo and stalking down the stairs.

"Just ignore him. Everyone else does." Phoebus advised. "Do you want to come in?"

Angelo shrugged, slipping past Phoebus into the foyer. It wasn't much cooler inside than it was outside, and the interior strongly resembled a greenhouse. There were plants everywhere. "I guess you really do like being in touch with nature," Angelo observed, crossing his arms as he stared around. Then he couldn't help but ask abruptly, "So who was that guy? Your boyfriend?"

Phoebus let out a bark of laughter. "Boyfriend? Hardly. He's my uncle. We don't get along very well."

"Oh."

Phoebus stared at him for several seconds, and in that moment, Angelo forgot why he had stopped by in the first place. Phoebus's gaze was like an x-ray. Angelo felt like the blond was reading his mind.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Phoebus finally asked. That was when Angelo noticed that the model had a light accent. If he had to guess, he would say it was either Russian or Greek. But that was beside the point.

"Who are you?" Angelo demanded, finally regaining his senses.

Phoebus raised both of his eyebrows. "I thought we already covered this subject."

"Somehow you ended up on the cover of GQ, but I've never heard of you before in my entire life."

Phoebus shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm a model. There are thousands of models in the world; can you honestly tell me that you've heard of them all?"

Angelo changed tactics. "You can't be more than twenty-five, but you talk like you're from a different century. I've never heard someone so young use such proper grammar."

"You use proper grammar," Phoebus pointed out before adding, "I don't understand what you're trying to accuse me of."

Angelo wasn't sure what he was trying to accuse him of either. Suddenly, he felt flustered and foolish. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Phoebus flashed a brilliant smile. "No worries. Can I offer you a drink?"

"Lemonade would be nice, if you have it. Oh!" He dug into his bag, pulling out the last bundle of mail and handing it to Phoebus. "I almost forgot."

"Thank you."

Phoebus disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Angelo to look around. There were tons of pictures on the walls, all of them containing strikingly beautiful people. The people in his family must have some really good genes, Angelo thought.

"Angelo!" Phoebus's voice called. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Sure!" Angelo yelled back. Then, thinking that it would be rude not to offer his help, Angelo slipped into the kitchen.

Phoebus was pulling a box of crackers out of the pantry.

"Can I help with anything?" Angelo asked.

"You can cut up the cheese, if you want." He pointed to a cutting board, where a block of cheddar and a knife had already been laid out.

Angelo began slicing cheese, and for a moment they were both silent. Then…

"So tell me something," Angelo said. "I know models make pretty good money, but you seem awfully young to have already earned enough to be living in a place like this."

"I'm not just a model," Phoebus answered as he poured lemonade. "I've sold several paintings, done singing and acting jobs –"

"Ow!" Angelo shouted, jumping backwards and sending the knife clattering to the ground. Phoebus whirled around in alarm. The knife had cut into Angelo's hand. Splatters of blood flecked the kitchen floor.

Phoebus darted to his side; the younger man was moaning in pain. "Let me see it!" the blond ordered, trying to pry away the hand that was clutching at the wound. Angelo reluctantly complied. "You're going to need stitches," Phoebus declared, taking Angelo by the arm and pulling him out of the kitchen.

The walls of the room that Phoebus led him to had shelves that were filled with various healing supplies. Phoebus ordered Angelo to sit down and then handed him a towel with directions to press it against the cut. Angelo did so, watching with watery eyes as the blonde rummaged around. Moments later he returned with alcohol, a needle, a bowl, gauze, bandages, and a box that read Vicryl. 

Angelo stared at him. "What are you, some kind of doctor?"

Phoebus smiled slightly. "Maybe in another life. The blood flow should have slowed down. Take the towel away," he said gently.

Angelo did so, and the blond mopped up the leftover blood with the gauze, which he then threw into a nearby trash bin. "This is going to hurt," he warned as he unscrewed the cap of the alcohol bottle. He positioned Angelo's hand above the bowl before pouring the alcohol onto the wound. Angelo hissed in pain. "I'm sorry," Phoebus apologized. When that was over, he began the process of stitching the wound shut. The edges of the wound had gone numb, blissfully preventing Angelo from feeling the needle puncture his skin.

When he was done, he unscrewed the lid of an unlabeled jar and scooped out a dime-sized amount of the creamy substance.

"What's that?" Angelo asked warily.

"Something that will help. I made it myself."

So Angelo offered him his hand, and Phoebus rubbed the cream over the wound. Instantly, Angelo felt a cool, tingling sensation. The pain melted from his hand. He blinked in surprise and looked up at Phoebus, meeting the gentle blue eyes. The contact lasted only for a split second before Phoebus stood up to discard the used supplies.

When he returned, Phoebus pressed the roll of bandages into his unwounded hand. "Wrap that up when you get home, but take it off before you go to bed," he directed. "Make sure you put antiseptic on it every day."

Angelo took this to mean that it was time to go. He stood up and let Phoebus guide him to the front door. Their good-bye was brief, but Angelo couldn't help but feel a sense of loss as he left.

***

Acestor was waiting for him when he got home. He got on the computer after taking a long, hot shower, and almost immediately an instant message popped up.

 ** _Acestor7:_** I was waiting for you. 

Angelo frowned slightly at the screen.

 ** _Dolios:_** I'm starting to feel like I'm being stalked. 

There was silence for a few moments, during which Angelo ran a comb through his damp hair (otherwise the tangles would be unbearable. He detested having curly hair).

 ** _Acestor7:_** How was your day? 

Apparently Acestor was going to ignore the last comment. Angelo shrugged and answered the question.

 ** _Dolios:_** I kind of sliced my hand open. Only I would manage to do that while delivering mail. 

Another pause.

 ** _Acestor7:_** Are you alright? 

**_Dolios:_** Yeah. Some guy on my mail route stitched me up. 

And then he was gone. Angelo growled in frustration, pulling at his hair. He went to bed soon afterwards, but was unable to fall asleep. He lay awake thinking of people he knew who might be the mysterious Acestor, but was still clueless when the first rays of sunshine came through his bedroom window.

It was Sunday, his only day off. Morning had come and gone by the time he decided to leave the warmth of his bed. He trudged into his bathroom, pulled his toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet, and began the process of cleaning his teeth. When he was done, he stared at his reflection for several seconds.

His green eyes were large – too large, in his opinion. A mass of curly black hair framed a delicate-looking face. He frowned at himself, creating the appearance of a pouty teenager. He was short, and rather slender. Although he had the lean, muscled body of a sprinter, he didn't look like someone who would be stronger than the average person.

He sighed at his reflection and left the bathroom. He searched around for something to wear, making a mental note to do laundry later that day. He finally settled on a wrinkled green t-shirt and a pair of black jeans.

Upon entering his tiny living room, he spotted a book that he had been meaning to finish. It seemed like the perfect day to curl up on the couch and read. He tracked down his reading glasses, poured himself a glass of orange juice, and then plopped down on the couch with a happy sigh.

He had barely finished reading two pages when his doorbell rang. Startled and unable to think of anyone who would be visiting him, he jumped up and opened the door.

Of all the people he might have expected to be on the other side, Phoebus would have been the last on the list. But there he was: Blond, blue-eyed, and blindingly handsome.

Neither of them spoke for a second – Angelo was staring at the newcomer stupidly, and Phoebus was watching him with something akin to amusement. Finally, Phoebus spoke the first words. "Are you going to invite me in, Angelo?"

"You can call me Anie," was Angelo's response. Then, realizing that didn't answer the question, he added, "Sure. Come in."

The model looked out of place in Angelo's messy apartment. Phoebus smiled as he looked around. "It looks like a teenager lives here," he said teasingly. "How old are you, Anie?"

"Eighteen," Angelo replied absentmindedly. He was busy clearing a spot for Phoebus to sit.

When he looked back at his visitor, he noticed that his hair, which had been curly the previous day, was now straight. It was longer than Angelo had originally thought.

A smirk formed on the younger man's lips. "Did you straighten your hair?" he asked in mock disbelief. "Kind of girly, don't you think?"

"I didn't straighten it myself," Phoebus replied, settling down into an armchair. "I just got back from a photo-shoot."

Angelo chose not to respond to that. Instead he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to check on your cut." He pointed at Angelo's hand to emphasize his words.

Angelo glanced down at his hand – and then gasped. The cut was completely gone. The only sign that it had ever been there was a faint scar. He looked up to meet Phoebus's eyes, and saw that the blond didn't look at all surprised. In fact, there was a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he'd been expecting this to happen.

"How – how did this happen?" Angelo demanded.

Phoebus shrugged, trying to hide a smile. "I guess you're a fast healer."

For probably the first time in his entire life, Angelo was rendered speechless. The room was silent until Phoebus, pointing at Angelo's face, said, "I didn't know you wear glasses."

Angelo could feel his cheeks turning red. He had forgotten to take off his glasses before answering the door. He hurriedly pulled them off his face and stuck them in his pocket. "Only when I read," he mumbled.

Phoebus grinned, revealing a mouth full of – go figure – perfect teeth. "I think you look good with glasses. It makes you look like an adorable, nerdy type of guy."

Angelo scowled, crossing his arms defensively and jutting out his chin. "I'm not a nerd. I was the fastest on the track team back at school. I could run the four-hundred in fifty seconds flat."

Phoebus stood up, continuing to smile. It was at that moment that Angelo realized just how tall the blonde was. He was easily 6'2" to Angelo's 5'8".

"You big tree," Angelo muttered under his breath. He snickered inwardly when Phoebus's golden eyebrows rose at that statement. But the blond didn't respond to the jab. Instead he stated, "There is no shortage of intelligent athletes. If you're so fast, why aren't you in the Olympics?"

"Actually, my coach told me that the Olympics were a possibility," Angelo admitted. "But things happened and – well, obviously I'm not in the Olympics."

"Obviously," Phoebus agreed, sweeping his hair away from his face. That was when Angelo realized something: He had never told Phoebus where he lived.

"How did you know my address?" he asked suspiciously, crossing his arms.

"You're listed in the phonebook."

"But I never told you my last name."

It was obvious to Angelo that his visitor was enjoying this game, and, if he was going to be honest with himself, so was he. It wasn't often he encountered someone with a tongue as quick as his.

"It wasn't hard to call the postal service and inquire about your last name."

"You went to all that trouble just to stop by and check on my hand?"

Phoebus shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I enjoy your company. I don't meet many people as clever as you. Your intelligence makes for good conversation."

Angelo frowned. "Good conversation?"

It wasn't the first time someone had commented on his intelligence – In fact, he had been in the top five of his graduating class, despite his insistence that he was not in any way, shape, or form, a nerd. But he couldn't think of any "good conversation" that he and Phoebus had had.

"You always have a response to everything," Phoebus explained. "Which, by the way, is more than I can say for the majority of people I know." Then he furrowed his eyebrows. "Now that I think about it, you're unusually smart for an eighteen-year-old."

This was a sore spot for Angelo, who scowled and turned away. He had always hated being smarter than most everyone else. When he was younger, he had just wanted to blend in. Unfortunately, the combination of his intelligence and athletic abilities had made him stick out like a sore thumb.

Phoebus didn't take the hint (or chose to ignore it) and continued to press the subject. "What are you doing working as a mailman when you could be in college? You would make a good lawyer."

Angelo clenched his fists. "I don't want to be a lawyer," he snapped.

"But you're throwing your life away," Phoebus said. And, if Angelo didn't know better, the audacious model was taunting him.

Angelo whirled around, coming face-to-face with the smirking man. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?" he growled. "Stop messing around with me."

But Phoebus wasn't about to give up. "But think of all that you could accomplish! The whole world could know your name –"

"Alright, that's it," Angelo snarled, lunging at the model. Both men went toppling to the floor. Angelo straddled the model's waist and grabbed fistfuls of his obviously expensive shirt. "Listen up, pretty-boy," he spat. "If you don't stop telling me what to do with my life, I'm going to go in there –" he pointed in the general direction of his bathroom, "—grab my razor, and shave off every strand of your pretty blonde hair. Understoo –"

But he had made a mistake in moving his dominant hand off Phoebus. The blond, taking advantage of Angelo's momentary weakness, flipped them over. Now he was the one in the dominant position. He grinned triumphantly. "I knew you had a spark in you! You know what?" He looked down at the red-faced Angelo with a raised eyebrow. "It's kind of a turn-on when you shove me around like that."

"Argh!" Angelo cried out in disgust, shoving the taller man off of him and scrambling to his feet. Phoebus, who had burst out laughing, also pushed himself up. Angelo marched over to the door, threw it open, and pointed outside. "Get out!" he ordered.

"Alright," Phoebus conceded, walking outside with that maddening grin still on his face. "Can I come see you tomo –"

Angelo slammed the door shut before the blond could finish his question. He thought he could hear Phoebus chuckling on the other side of the door.

With a weary sigh, he leaned against the door and slid down until he was sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest. If anyone ever asked, he would absolutely deny the fluttery feeling he had felt in his stomach at the way Phoebus had continued to smile at him and the way the model had said his name – With his accent, it had sounded like Ah-nee.

"Stop being stupid," Angelo muttered to himself, climbing to his feet. He resolved to take a cold shower and then make a phone call to Alex, the friend who never failed to make him feel better.

But even as he slipped out of his clothes and turned on the shower, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to change drastically.


	2. Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they speak Greek and Russian. Translations can be found at the bottom.

"I'm here!" Alex's voice yelled, making Angelo practically jump out of his skin. He had been sprawled across his couch, staring up at the ceiling, when his friend barged into the apartment.

"One of these days you're going to regret never knocking before you walk into a room," Angelo grumbled, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

Alex grinned, bouncing over to the couch and plopping down next to Angelo. "Maybe. But that's not why you called me. You said it was urgent," he reminded his friend.

Angelo stared at Alex, trying to decide if he really wanted to share his problem. Alex was outwardly bisexual, and was sure to be understanding of the situation. _Even though I'm not really sure what the situation is,_ he thought.

"Okay," Angelo sighed, "so I met this guy, and –"

"Anie has a boyfriend!" Alex crowed, leaping off the couch and proceeding to jump up and down, strongly resembling an overly-enthusiastic child on a trampoline.

"No I don't!" Angelo shouted, also jumping to his feet. "And for God's sake, stop jumping around! You're going to get me evicted. I _do_ have neighbors, you know!"

"I'm surprised you haven't been evicted yet," Alex snorted, sitting down. "You're the noisiest person I know."

Angelo ignored the comment, wiping his damp palms on his jeans and chewing on his lower lip.

"Stop biting your lip!" Alex ordered, swatting Angelo's face. "You're going to make yourself bleed. It's obvious that you're worried about something, so just spit it out."

"Well, for starters, he's the –" he struggled to find the proper word, "—the _prettiest_ person I've ever seen."

Alex raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

"He's a model. He's got these insanely blue eyes–"

Alex was beginning to look gleeful, and Angelo averted his eyes, determined not to look at his friend while he was saying these words.

"–he's tall, and I can tell he's really smart. I've never heard anyone talk the way he does. But anyway, he stopped by today. He made me mad and I was going to punch him in the face a few times, but then he grabbed me and flipped me over –"

Alex snickered at Angelo's choice of words. Angelo felt his cheeks color slightly, but continued with the story. "When he touched me, I got this fluttery feeling in my stomach. You don't think it means anything, do you?"

Alex shrugged. "Personally, I don't think we need to label everyone who finds someone of the same gender attractive as being homosexual or bisexual. It's not uncommon for guys to find other guys attractive. It's just that the world has gotten so uptight…" He let his voice trail off. For a moment they sat in silence. Then Alex turned to Angelo and grinned. "I'd love to see the guy that managed to give straight-as-an-arrow Anie the flutters."

So Angelo lifted his laptop off the coffee table and opened it up. While he waited for it to boot up, Alex scooted closer, settling into Angelo's side.

"What are you doing?" Angelo snapped, trying to shove him away.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Relax, man. I'm not going to grope you."

Angelo had to laugh at that. By that time, the computer was up and running. With Alex watching curiously, Angelo went to Google Images and typed in "Phoebus Lambrinos". A second later, hundreds of pictures of the model filled his computer screen. Angelo clicked on the first one. He could hear Alex inhale sharply.

It was a picture from Playgirl. It had been shot in a field. An archery target was barely visible behind Phoebus's sun-kissed body. The blond was leaning on a longbow that was almost as tall as he was. His bare hips were jutted out, and in his other hand was a loosely held arrow. His hair fell over his shoulders, and blue eyes were barely visible beneath coal-black eyelashes. The picture cut off just below the hips, leaving everything else to the imagination.

"If this is the guy you're talking about," Alex said hoarsely, "I can totally see why you'd be gay for him."

Angelo couldn't open his mouth to argue. The two young men continued to stare at the picture until a loud knock on the door ripped them out of their stupor.

"Angelo!" someone shouted. "Open up!"

Angelo scrambled off the couch, leaving the laptop sitting open next to Alex. He flung open the door, fully prepared to tell the person on the other side to keep it down – but when he came face-to-face with Phoebus, the words died on his lips.

This time, the model was holding – Angelo couldn't believe his eyes – a bouquet of roses and a stuffed…turtle?

"You did _not_ bring me flowers." The words were filled with disbelief but also a hint of laughter.

Phoebus smiled sheepishly, holding out the roses and turtle. Angelo accepted them, shaking his head and muttering, "I'm not a girl, you know."

"I know you're not," Phoebus answered, beginning to follow him into the apartment but stopping short when he spotted Alex sitting on the couch. "Oh," he murmured. "I didn't realize you had company."

Angelo, who had begun to hunt for a vase, snorted. "He doesn't qualify as company. This is my friend, Alex. Alex, this is Phoebus."

The two men nodded at each other. It was then that Phoebus noticed the laptop that was still resting on the couch – and that was still opened to the picture of himself.

Angelo, who had given up the search for a vase and instead settled on using a large pitcher, froze when he saw what Phoebus was looking at. But Phoebus merely commented, "I never liked that picture."

"Oh, I do." Alex's words were practically dripping with lust. Angelo shot him an angry look and hastily changed the subject. "So what's up with the turtle, Phoebus? Doesn't tradition say that you're supposed to get me a teddy bear or something?"

"Tradition can always be changed," was the mild response. "I thought you seemed like the kind of guy who would like turtles."

It was true. Angelo had always loved turtles, and had actually owned one when he was growing up in the orphanage. But he wasn't about to let Phoebus know that. "Okay, then," he said with a roll of his eyes. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something. Where are you from?"

"Greece. I thought that would be obvious from my name," was the dry response.

"...you're right," Angelo said sheepishly. "I should have guessed."

"So you're a natural blond?" Alex asked curiously.

Phoebus nodded.

"Speak Greek to me," Alex said, and to Angelo's bemusement, the lust had crept back into his voice.

_"Lypoumaste, alla den eimai endiaferomeno̱n,"_ Phoebus said with a frown.

What neither Alex nor Phoebus knew was that Angelo had taken four years of Greek in high school.

_"Pou sas endiaférei, tote?"_ Angelo teased, blushing as soon as the words left his mouth.

Phoebus didn't seem surprised that the younger man spoke Greek. He didn't respond to the question, either.

"You never told me you took Greek," Alex accused.

"It's not really a big deal."

_"Da, eta bolshoye delo."_ Alex converted to Russian, a language that Angelo and he had decided to learn together just for the fun of it.

_"Pochemu?"_ Angelo asked, placing a hand on his hip.

_"Potomushta,"_ he whined. _"Ya hochu govorit sa nim!"_

_"Ti dolzhi znayesh, ya govoru porusski."_

Both men turned to face Phoebus in shock.

"What – how – how what –"Alex sputtered.

"Your shock is flattering," Phoebus said dryly. "Did you think you were the only ones capable of learning multiple languages?"

"No!" Angelo protested. "It's just..."

To his shock, Phoebus's frown was replaced by a soft smile. The blond reached out a hand and gently ran his fingers through Angelo's hair before turning on his heel and leaving the apartment without saying another word.

"Unbelievable," he heard Alex breathe.

_Yes, he is,_ Angelo thought to himself. He was still dazed and not quite sure what to think about what had just happened.

Alex kept talking. "You're straight, and you still manage to find all the hottest guys! You are way too lucky for your own good, Anie."

Angelo, however, wasn't feeling so lucky. His entire body felt like it was on fire and he was having trouble concentrating on what his friend was saying.

"This can't be happening," he said, dazed. "I'm straight! Straight, straight, straight!"

"Anie," Alex said, standing in front of the dark-haired man. "I kind of think any straight guy might make an exception for _that_." He pointed towards the door that Phoebus had just walked out of.

"But –" Angelo began to protest weakly.

Alex cut him off, jumping up and waving his arms around like he was attempting to land a plane. "Listen to me! Don't throw away this opportunity just because you want to protect your masculinity! I'll bet he's great in bed. This could be your chance for the best sex you've ever had in your entire life!"

And suddenly, Angelo was feeling slightly sick.

***

"So tell me about yourself," Phoebus said in a soft voice.

Outside, the sun was setting. The room was filled with orange and pink light. Phoebus was sitting across from him in a leather chair that had probably cost more than Angelo could make in five years.

Angelo had made himself comfortable on the floor. He leaned his head against the couch, staring out the window. "I don't really know anything about myself," he said quietly. "I told you before that I'm an orphan. The people where I grew up said that my parents died in a car crash, but I never really believed them."

"Why not?"

Angelo shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "Intuition, I guess. Why do you want to know all of this, anyway?"

If Angelo had been looking at Phoebus, he would have seen the model's eyes darken. But the younger man was still gazing out the window. Phoebus forced himself to speak in a normal tone. "Because I want to know about you. For instance, what is your favorite song?"

"My favorite song changes every week. Right now it's Highway Wings by Will Hoge. Last week it was God's Gonna Cut you Down by Johnny Cash. Next week it's going to be You're So Real by Matchbox Twenty."

Phoebus laughed delightedly. "You plan out your favorite song of the week? _Really?_ " Then he moved on, not giving Angelo a chance to comment. "Highway Wings? I don't think I've ever heard of that one."

_"Blue skies, blue skies calling, telling me to move on - around here, everyone's fading, already gone…"_

"You have a nice singing voice," Phoebus commented lightly. Angelo blushed slightly, but before he could respond, there was a knock on the front door. Phoebus stood up, a frown marring his handsome face. Angelo jumped to his feet as well, hoping he wouldn't have to leave.

Three men were waiting on the front stoop. Angelo recognized one of them as being Phoebus's rude uncle. The shortest of the three was smiling broadly, obviously happy to see Phoebus. The last one, whose hair was jet-black, looked just as moody – if not more so—than the blond uncle.

"Apollon!" the short one boomed, throwing his arms around Phoebus. Phoebus didn't return the embrace, and Angelo could see his shoulders stiffen. The young mailman stepped forward until he was right next to the model, clearing his throat as he did so. It took a moment for the three visitors to notice him, but when they did, each froze in shock.

When nobody moved or spoke, Angelo cleared his throat again, aiming a questioning look at his friend. "Apollon?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

"You shouldn't ask questions about things you wouldn't understand," the black-haired stranger snapped.

Angelo lifted his chin, prepared to make a scathing reply, but Phoebus reached out and grabbed his wrist, silently telling him to stay quiet. "I would prefer it if you didn't insult my guest, Uncle," he said softly.

"Your _guest?_ " the dark-haired stranger scoffed. "If his father wasn't so afraid of–"

_"Brother!"_ the shortest visitor said sharply, effectively cutting off the sentence.

"You knew my father?" Angelo said quickly.

"No!" Phoebus shouted, just as the dark-haired visitor snapped, " _Yes_ , you fool."

"Alright," Angelo said angrily. "I've had enough of this crap. If someone doesn't tell me what's going on, I'm going to –"

"Anie, please don't be mad," Phoebus begged. "I swear on the gods that I will explain. Just not right now, okay?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Angelo muttered, not noticing the odd expression that the model had just used. He turned around and shoved past the three strangers. He kept walking for the next hour, not paying any attention to where he was going. He didn't look up from his feet until a low, husky voice caught him off guard.

"You look lost."

When he looked up, he met the dark gaze of a man whose picture would probably appear next to the definition of 'bad boy'. His left eyebrow was vertically pierced, and his skin was lightly tanned. Dark hair curled tightly against his head, and a cigarette hung from his smirking mouth. He adjusted his leather jacket and moved closer to Angelo. "Do you need directions?"

Angelo ignored the question. "Who are you?" he asked rather rudely, staring through narrowed eyes and wondering why this man seemed so familiar.

"Andrew," the stranger responded, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Are you going to answer me?"

"I'm not lost," Angelo responded curtly as he began to walk away.

"You're not polite, either."

Once again, Angelo ignored him. He picked up his pace when he heard footsteps following him.

"You can't outrun me!" Andrew called. "I'm in good shape."

"You wanna bet?" Angelo called back. "Unless you're an Olympic runner, I'm pretty sure I can."

When he heard the footsteps quicken, he broke into a run. He never could resist a challenge, and track had been his favorite sport. His momentum building, he kept putting on speed until he could no longer hear the pounding feet behind him. "Is that the best you can –" he began to gasp over his shoulder, but never finished the sentence.

**CRASH!**

He collided with an extremely solid body and went tumbling to the ground. What little breath he had left shot out of his body with a whoosh. He heard Andrew skid to a halt. Someone was cursing in Greek, and without looking, Angelo knew whom he had collided with.

"Phoebus," he groaned, "I think I cracked a rib."

Somehow Angelo had managed to circle back to the model's house.

"I'm sorry," the blond's sarcastic voice replied. "I didn't know to be on the lookout for people sprinting down my sidewalk."

In spite of himself, Angelo began to laugh. When the giggles subsided, he sat up and smiled at Phoebus. The smile quickly vanished when he saw the expression on his friend's face.

Phoebus was staring at Andrew with something that strongly resembled contempt. When Angelo turned to look at Andrew, he saw the same look upon his face. "Do you two know each other?" he asked, completely baffled at their reactions to one another.

"Unfortunately, yes," Phoebus said in an irritable voice. "He's my brother."

_"What?!"_

The two looked nothing alike – in fact, they were polar opposites.

As though he had read Angelo's mind, Phoebus explained, "We have different mothers."

"At least Dad was –and still is—married to my mom," Andrew muttered, and suddenly, Angelo felt as though he was in the presence of bickering eight-year-olds.

"Why do you two hate each other so much?" Angelo asked with raised eyebrows, climbing to his feet and wondering if he was about to see a show-down between two of the most attractive men he'd ever met. Then, realizing what he had just thought, he buried his face in his hands. _There went the last little bit of my straightness,_ he thought with a mental sigh.

"It probably has something to do with the fact that he's an unsophisticated brute," Phoebus said with a scowl. Then the scowl was replaced by a sneer. "And he has no taste in clothes."

"Oooh, hitting me where it hurts," Andrew said, holding his hands over his heart. "My fashion style!" Then he turned to Angelo. "To answer your question: He's whiny, shallow, and has an attitude problem the size of Russia."

Phoebus ignored the slight. "We don't hate each other. He'll always be my big brother," he said to Angelo.

"And you'll always be my annoying kid brother," Andrew said under his breath, earning a glare from Phoebus.

"So where did your other relatives go?" Angelo asked Phoebus in an attempt to change the subject.

"I told them to leave."

"Relatives?" Andrew asked. "Who else was here?"

"Dad and our uncles. They stopped by to tell me about the – er – family reunion."

"Does your entire family live around here?" Angelo inquired.

"Not exactly." The response was muttered.

"We wouldn't need a family reunion if we all lived in the same neighborhood, would we?" Andrew said rudely.

"Where do they live, then?"

"In Greece, of course." There was a mischievous glint in the model's eyes that Angelo found both attractive and mysterious. And then he thought of something that made him frown.

"You won't have to go to Greece for the reunion, will you?" He tried to ignore the fact that the thought of Phoebus leaving disappointed him.

"Yes," Phoebus answered reluctantly. Then his face brightened. "Why don't you come with me?"

Angelo blinked, wondering if he had heard correctly. "…what?"

"Greece is a beautiful country. I promise you'll have a great time. I'll pay for everything."

"I'll lose my job. I can't take that much time off," Angelo protested.

"You won't lose your job." His matter-of-fact tone made Angelo blink again. It wasn't a persuasion, or even a reassurance. It was a promise, and Angelo found himself trusting the man he had only known for a matter of days.

"Alright!" he agreed, suddenly feeling excited. He wasn't sure why, but for his entire life he had wanted to go to Greece. He bounced up and down, grinning like a lunatic and failing to notice the look of deep disapproval that Andrew was aiming their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I do not speak Greek, so I apologize if the phrases are wrong. I do, however, speak Russian, so I'm fairly sure those parts are right :) 
> 
> **Translations (in the order spoken):**
> 
> Lypoumaste, alla den eimai endiaferomeno̱n - Sorry, but I'm not interested.
> 
> Pou sas endiaférei, tote? - Then who are you interested in? 
> 
> Da, eta bolshoye delo -Yes, it is a big deal. 
> 
> Pochemu? - Why? 
> 
> Potumshta, ya hochu govorit sa nim! - Because, I want to talk to him! 
> 
> Ti dolzhi znayesh, ya govoru porusski. - You should know that I speak Russian.   
> Songs Mentioned
> 
> _Highway Wings_ by Will Hoge 
> 
> _God's Gonna Cut You Down_ by Johnny Cash 
> 
> _You're so Real_ by Matchbox Twenty
> 
> None of the lyrics are mine. _Highway Wings_ can be heard on YouTube if anyone is curious. :) Thank you for reading!


	3. To Find Oneself

"This is _ridiculous,_ " Angelo said, gaping at the enormous size of the suite. "How much did this cost you?"

"Just fourteen thousand dollars," Phoebus replied absently, taking a vase from the butler (because all ridiculously expensive suites must come with a butler) and beginning to arrange the flowers himself.

_"Fourteen thousand dollars?"_ Angelo squeaked, staring at Phoebus with wide green eyes as the blond paused to sip at the champagne that had been waiting for them when they arrived.

They were aboard the Constellation, in the process of moving into the Penthouse Suite – the most lavish suite on the ship. Angelo was sure that his entire apartment would fit inside the bathroom, and maybe even in the fully-stocked pantry.

"If you're going to be my friend, get used to having the best of everything."

Phoebus had abandoned the flower arrangement and was now running a brush through his long hair, carefully untangling the golden curls.

Angelo didn't respond, but continued to tour the set of rooms he would inhabit for the next several weeks. He stepped into the bedroom – and then froze. _You have got to be kidding me._

There was only one bed in the massive room. He would have to share with Phoebus.

The thought of being in the same bed with the blond made his hands clammy.

"Oh, I see you found the bedroom," Phoebus said, strolling into the bedroom with the butler following close behind. Angelo waited while the other man made sure that the butler put everything exactly where he wanted it. When the elderly man had left, the brunette took a deep breath. "Phoebus..." he began.

"Mm?" his friend hummed.

"Did you happen to notice – ummm – the slight problem –"

Phoebus turned to Angelo, a frown marring his face. "What problem?"

He wordlessly gestured towards the bed. Phoebus raised a golden eyebrow. "Are you trying to tell me that you want me to satisfy your boyish needs?"

"What? No!" Angelo shouted. "I'm trying to tell you that there's only one bed. What the heck's that all about? Fourteen thousand dollars later and there's seriously only _one bed?!_ "

It was rather suspicious. The suite had everything from a security system, foyer and grand piano to a living room and dining room, two entertainment centers and music centers (with a docking station that Angelo had immediately hooked his iPod up to), two bathrooms (one with a whirlpool tub), a massive veranda with lounge seating and yet another whirlpool tub, and a bar...but only one bed?

Phoebus wasn't the least bit fazed by his young friend's rant. "So?"

"So, we're going to have to share! Don't you think that's going to be awkward?"

With two swift steps, Phoebus was standing directly in front of Angelo. The blond was close enough for Angelo to count each and every one of his coal-black eyelashes. "Only if one of us does something to make it awkward," he said in a voice as soft as velvet.

_I can count all of the colors in his eyes,_ Angelo thought dazedly before mentally shaking himself. "Stop doing that!" he demanded.

Phoebus look surprised. "Stop doing what?"

"Putting me in a trance. It's starting to annoy."

Phoebus chose not to answer, but his lips curved into a slight smirk. "I'm going to go lie down in the sun for a while," he said, grabbing his swim shorts and a plush robe that had of course come with the suite before heading into the...dressing room?

Angelo rolled his eyes. Talk about over-the-top extravagance.

Phoebus emerged a moment later with an oversized towel and a bottle of tanning lotion. Angelo snorted at the sight. "You're going to tan? _Really?_ "

Phoebus narrowed his eyes. "I'm a model," he snapped. "I have to look good."

"Whatever you say, Miss Lambrinos," Angelo said under his breath. Phoebus ignored him and stalked out of the room.

Angelo waited a few moments before shrugging and following the model out onto the veranda.

Phoebus had just taken off the robe, revealing a body that would probably make any man green with envy.

Angelo averted his gaze, trying not to look directly at the model. He plopped down onto one of the lounge chairs, leaning back and staring out at the rolling ocean. He caught sight of several dolphins leaping into the air and smiled to himself. Supposedly that was good luck.

"So...what are we going to do when we get to Greece?" Angelo asked after several minutes of silence.

"Whatever you want to do," the blond responded lazily.

"Are we going to hook up with Athena and Aphrodite?" Angelo joked. Had he been looking at Phoebus, he would have seen the trace of a smile on the model's face.

"Maybe" was the vague answer.

"I know most people say that Aphrodite is the hottest goddess, but I always had a thing for Artemis and Athena," Angelo said with a grin, crossing his legs and turning to face his friend.

Phoebus was lying on his stomach. The muscles in his back rippled as he propped himself up on his forearms and peered at Angelo with an expression that could have been identified as either amusement or exasperation. "You know they're both supposed to be chaste, right?"

"Duh. That makes them even hotter."

Phoebus rolled his eyes and lay back down, grumbling something under his breath.

Angelo, however, wasn't exactly known for his ability to remain silent. He kept talking. "You're Greek, right?"

"Yes," Phoebus responded, his voice muffled. "I believe that's why we're going on this little trip to _Greece._ "

Angelo ignored the last comment. "Tell me some mythical stories."

Phoebus sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the sky. "Have you ever heard the one about how Hermes annoyed Apollon?"

Angelo shook his head, eager to hear a story about the god he had been named after.

"Well, the story goes that Hermes kept following Apollon around and wouldn't stop talking. Apollon was trying to concentrate on something, but Hermes kept interrupting him. Finally Apollon got fed up with it and challenged Hermes to a foot race. Hermes was sure that he would win because he was the inventor and patron of track-and-field. But Apollon was known for being the best at everything." There was a slight smirk on Phoebus's lips.

"Sounds like Apollo's an overachiever," Angelo commented.

A brief scowl crossed Phoebus's face but quickly vanished. "Needless to say, Apollon won the race," Phoebus finished.

"So what do you think the gods look like?" Angelo asked.

Phoebus turned away, running a hand through his hair thoughtfully.

"The gods are powerful," he finally answered. "They can have any appearance they want. Their true forms are too great for human eyes to see, so they cloak themselves in order to walk amongst us."

Angelo chose not to comment on the fact that Phoebus was talking about the gods as though they were real. He gazed out at the ocean once more, and when he turned back, he was shocked to see that Phoebus was balancing an acoustic guitar in his lap. "How did you do that?" he demanded when he had finally regained the ability to speak.

"Do what?" Phoebus asked innocently.

Angelo pointed at the guitar. "That – what – it – how –"

Phoebus just blinked at him. When it became obvious that the brunette wasn't going to say anything that made sense, he began to strum the guitar and sing softly. _"I think I've already lost you, I think you're already gone, I think I'm finally scared now – you think I'm weak, I think you're wrong."_

"Sounds like you're a little paranoid," Angelo commented. "That's a Matchbox Twenty song, right?"

Phoebus stopped playing and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Stop annoying me," he snapped. "I'm sure you can find some other way to amuse yourself."

"If you insist, Your Highness."

Sometimes Phoebus could be so moody.

Angelo hopped off the lounge chair and jogged back inside, darting through the bedroom and into the dressing room. He managed to locate his swim shorts and quickly changed.

Less than a minute passed before he was bounding back outside. "I've always wanted to try one of these things!" he announced brightly, gesturing at the whirlpool tub.

Phoebus opened one eye, managing to look vaguely surprised. "You've never been in one before?"

Angelo shook his head as he pulled off the cover. Steam rose off the heated water. Grinning excitedly, Angelo leapt over the side and sighed contentedly when his skin came into contact with the warm water.

It took him a moment to realize that Phoebus had sat up and was laughing at him.

"What are you laughing at?" Angelo demanded.

Phoebus grinned slowly. "Aren't you going to turn on the jets?"

"What jets?"

Phoebus climbed off the lounge chair, shaking his head in amusement. When he reached the tub, he leaned over and pushed one of the buttons on the panel that Angelo hadn't noticed before. The water in the tub became a whirlpool...hence the name, Angelo supposed, feeling slightly foolish.

The feeling of stupidity didn't last long - it seemed like there were jets of water coming from _everywhere_ , massaging the tension out of Angelo's muscles. If he had felt content before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. "This is what Heaven must be like," he moaned.

Having closed his eyes, he failed to notice the secretive smile that was playing on Phoebus's lips.

When Angelo felt someone else climbing into the tub, he opened one eye and saw that Phoebus had pinned up his hair before getting in. "You treat your hair like it's made of gold or something," he commented.

Phoebus shrugged. "The people I work for like me to keep it healthy. Apparently it's one of my best features."

"Really?" With both of his eyes now open, Angelo examined his new friend critically. Although the blond hair did compliment his sapphire eyes, Angelo wouldn't call it his best feature.

"Stop staring at me like that," Phoebus said. A pretty blush was darkening his ivory cheeks.

Angelo grinned. "Sorry."

They sat in comfortable silence for the better part of an hour, only interrupted when the butler arrived at one point with a tray of tea and canapés.

When dusk began to fall and Angelo began to resemble a prune, the older man stood up. "We should probably get out of here," he stated. "We don't want to fry our internal organs."

Angelo, who was already half asleep, murmured, "Sure."

Phoebus rolled his eyes and shook the brunette's shoulder. "Come on, get up."

When Angelo still wouldn't budge, Phoebus sighed and reached down, scooping him up.

Angelo's eyes snapped wide open. "Hey!" he cried indignantly. "What are you doing?!"

Phoebus didn't answer. He deposited Angelo on one of the lounge chairs and then handed him a towel.

Angelo stretched and yawned. "I think I'm going to bed early tonight," he mumbled, wrapping himself in the massive towel and standing up.

"Not without taking a shower first, you aren't."

Angelo stared up at him with catlike emerald eyes. "Are you saying I stink?"

Phoebus snorted and walked away.

"Hey!" Angelo shouted after him. "It's not nice to ignore people!"

Although he couldn't see anything but the back of his head, Angelo would have bet all of his money that there was a smirk on Phoebus's handsome face.

***

Even though Phoebus showered before Angelo, the brunette was still the first one to crawl into bed. Angelo had quickly learned that Phoebus spent more time in front of the mirror than all of the girls the younger man had ever dated _put together._

"What is taking you so long?" Angelo griped. He was eager to shut off the lights and go to sleep. "Are you trying to impress your pillows or something?"

Phoebus, who was in the middle of rubbing some kind of cream on his face, didn't bother to answer – a habit that Angelo was fast becoming annoyed with. "What? Am I not deemed worthy enough to speak with the great Phoebus Lambrinos?" he asked scathingly.

"On the contrary," Phoebus began as he started combing something through his long hair. Even from several feet away, Angelo could smell the delightful scent of whatever product he was using. "I deem you more worthy of my conversation than the majority of people on this planet."

"Really?"

Phoebus shot him a look of amusement. "Yes."

"You've got to be one of the most honest people I've ever met."

There was that secretive smile again. "I never tell a lie."

That statement prodded at Angelo's subconscious, and he frowned to himself. Where had he heard that before?

He noticed that Phoebus was looking at him from the corner of his eye.

"What?" Angelo asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Phoebus said as he climbed into bed, "nothing at all."

***

Angelo had never woken up in someone's arms before, but he quickly discovered that it was a feeling he could get used to. His mind was still hazy from sleep, and he cuddled closer to the warm body. "Mmm," he hummed contentedly. His hand was tangled in the person's soft hair.

"I didn't realize you were so cuddly, Anie," an amused voice said in his ear—a male voice.

_Oh no._

_"Gah!"_ Angelo shouted, scrambling backwards and tumbling right off the bed. He landed in a disgruntled heap.

Phoebus's face peaked over the side. "That was graceful," he said with a smirk.

"Shut up," Angelo groaned, rubbing his eyes before he looked up at Phoebus warily. The smirk had been replaced by a fond smile. His lapis lazuli eyes were filled with warmth.

"What – what time is it?" Angelo stammered.

Phoebus opened his mouth, but never got a chance to answer.

"It's almost noon," a deep voice boomed, and Angelo shot up as though he'd been electrocuted. The three men that he'd met at Phoebus's house were standing in their bedroom. "What are you doing here?" Angelo demanded.

"That's neither here nor there," the dark-haired man snapped. _Is he ever in a good mood?_ Angelo wondered.

"They're going to the reunion, too," Phoebus said to Angelo. "I don't think I ever introduced you to them." He pointed to the shortest man, the one with the platinum blond hair. "This is my father, Zenon." Then he pointed to the tallest of the three, whose fair hair was slightly darker than Zenon's. "That's Pelogios, my uncle. And the perpetually moody one is Heber."

"Pelogios?" Angelo asked, eyeing the haughty uncle. "I thought you called him '''Seidon".

"My middle name is Poseidonios," Pelogios explained. For some reason, he shot Phoebus an angry look.

"Is it common for Greeks to name their children after ancient gods?" Angelo asked, raising his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?" Phoebus and Zenon asked in unison. Angelo thought he saw a trace of alarm in Phoebus's eyes.

"Your name means 'of Zeus'," Angelo said to Zenon. "Poseidonios means 'of Poseidon', and Pelogios means 'of the sea'. Poseidon's the god of the sea." He turned to Heber. "I guess you aren't really named after a god, but 'Heber' does mean 'from the other side', or 'the region beyond', or something like that."

"So I take it he speaks Greek?" Pelogios drawled as though Angelo wasn't there.

Phoebus nodded. Angelo noticed that he now looked positively gray.

"What's going on?" he asked suspiciously.

Zenon and Phoebus exchanged glances. It was the first time Angelo had seen Phoebus looking so helpless. "Your word is unerring," Phoebus whispered to Zenon, bowing his head slightly. "I will trust your judgment, Father."

Zenon gave a slight nod. Phoebus was now a delicate shade of green, and Angelo was caught between confusion and worry - it couldn't be healthy for a person to change colors that rapidly.

"My name isn't Phoebus," he said to Angelo in a strained voice. "Well, some people _do_ call me that, but it's just an epithet."

He paused for a moment, and Angelo waited in silence.

Phoebus finally spoke. "My name is Apollon."

His voice was so quiet that Angelo had to lean forward to hear him. "So you're named after a god, too? Um...why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"

Phoebus – _Apollon_ – shook his head slightly. It took a moment for Angelo to understand what he was trying to say, but when he finally worked it out, he felt like he had been hit by a considerably large truck.

He inhaled sharply. "Are you trying to tell me," he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded severe, "that you are the Greek god _Apollo?!_ "

"Actually, 'Apollo' is my Roman counterpart," he muttered. "My Greek name has an 'N' at the end of it. Alpha-pi-omikron-double lambda-omega-nu. Ἀπόλλων. Apollon."

Angelo completely ignored this explanation. "And I suppose you're going to try to tell me that these three," he waved his hand at _Apollon's_ father and uncles, "are Zeus, Poseidon, and –" he stared at the dark-haired man who called himself Heber, and realized that Apollon only had one other uncle, _"Hades?!_ " 

It wasn't possible. Angelo stared at all three of them with disbelief written across his face. "Either all of you are completely insane, or you're playing one of the stupidest tricks in history – which, by the way, is an insult to my intelligence. I don't really care which one it is. I'm getting out of here right now." He grabbed a jacket, shoved past the three newcomers, and stormed out of the suite. It wasn't until he reached the upper deck and caught a glimpse of the sea that he realized he was trapped on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He scowled at nothing in particular and threw himself into a lounge chair.

"Are you mad at me?" a quiet voice said in his ear.

"Of course I'm mad at you," Angelo snapped, not bothering to look up. "And I don't get mad easily. I thought you were my friend!"

"I am your friend!" Phoebus – or whoever he was – protested. "Things didn't work out like they were supposed to."

"Understatement," Angelo said under his breath. "I didn't realize you were completely _mental_."

"I'm not insane," he contradicted. "I'm telling you the truth. I've always told you the truth. I just mislead you a little bit."

"If you expect me to believe that you're a Greek god, you might as well leave because it's not going to happen."

"You will believe me." His tone was matter-of-fact.

Angelo snorted and crossed his arms.

"What can I do to prove this to you?" Desperation now filled his voice.

Angelo thought about Apollon, the Greek deity whom he had always admired. He was the god of truth and music, of light and poetry, and of _prophecy…_

"Tell me how I'm going to die," Angelo commanded.

"You aren't going to die."

He blinked; of all the answers he'd been expecting, that definitely hadn't been on the list. "Excuse me?"

Phoebus waved his hand impatiently. "We'll talk about that later. Ask me something else."

"Okay. Who am I going to marry?"

"You aren't going to get married."

Angelo rolled his eyes. "You know what? For all I know, you could be making this up." He went back to thinking. _Apollon is also the god of healing._

Angelo held out his index finger, displaying a painful paper cut that hadn't yet healed. "Okay, _Apollon_." He spat out the name sarcastically. "Heal this for me."

The blond bit his lip and looked around nervously. No one else was in sight. He sighed softly and took Angelo's hand. The warmth that Angelo always felt at Phoebus's touch shot through his body, and he hummed with pleasure, momentarily forgetting that he was angry with the other man. Phoebus lifted his own index finger and touched it to the cut. There was a flash of golden light, and the pain disappeared. When the blond removed his hand, Angelo saw that the cut was completely gone. Not even a scar remained.

Angelo's mouth fell open. Slowly, he looked up to meet the beautiful cobalt eyes. "How – how can this be possible?" he whispered. "I can't believe it…there has to be some kind of explanation…"

"You have no faith," Phoebus said quietly. His eyes were reproachful.

"It's not that I don't have faith," Angelo snapped. "You have to understand that I was raised to believe that the Greek gods were just characters in fantasy stories that teachers force their students to read. And then you show up and try to tell me that you're Apollon…" He breathed deeply. "I don't know what to think."

He stared at Phoebus for a long moment, examining his perfect face. "I bet girls fall in love with you at first sight," he sighed.

Phoebus blinked at the sudden change of subject, but then frowned. "That's not true," Phoebus admitted gruffly. "I've been rejected by nearly every girl I've ever pursued."

Angelo gaped at him. "How is that possible?"

Phoebus shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose because it's considered dangerous to love a god."

_Dangerous?_ Angelo thought to himself. _I never thought loving him would be_ dangerous.

When this thought registered in his brain several seconds later, he gasped and leapt to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Phoebus asked, alarmed. He had also jumped to his feet.

"Nothing!" Angelo squeaked. "I - I need to be alone for a while."

Without further ado, he turned on his heel and sprinted the other way as fast as he possibly could, stopping only when he had reached the other side of the ship. He leaned against the railing, gasping for breath and pulling at his hair with both hands.

When had he fallen in love with Phoebus? Had it been the day he had seen the blond kneeling in his garden with dirt streaked across his ivory cheeks? Or maybe it had been the time Angelo had tackled him and had felt the model's perfect body beneath him? Or the first time Angelo had heard him speak Greek? His voice had never sounded more beautiful than when he had spoken in his native tongue.

Angelo groaned and buried his face in his hands. He felt like he was losing his mind. Mere months ago he'd been a normal straight guy, and now he was on a cruise ship headed to Greece, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he'd fallen in love with a man on his mail route who claimed to be Apollon. When had life gotten so complicated?

"What was that all about?" the annoyed voice of Phoebus asked.

"What? Oh. Nothing," Angelo responded lamely.

Phoebus narrowed his eyes at him. "I can tell when people are lying, you know. But that's not important right now." He plopped down on the ground, making himself comfortable and gesturing for Angelo to do the same. Reluctantly, Angelo obeyed. Phoebus took a deep breath. "I wasn't finished telling you everything. There's one more thing that you really need to know."

Angelo stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"We didn't meet through some sort of chance happening, Anie. I knew that the house I'm living in now would be on your mail route. I was waiting for you the day we met."

"Why?" His voice was calm, even though he had a strong feeling that what he was about to hear would change his life forever.

"Zeus sent me there. He wanted me to find you." Phoebus smiled grimly. "He didn't expect that we would become friends."

Once again, Angelo waited for him to go on.

Phoebus inhaled deeply. "A long time ago, a nymph named Maia gave birth to the twelfth Olympian god."

"Hermes," Angelo acknowledged. Phoebus nodded.

"Zeus went to great lengths to hide his son's identity from Hera. He was afraid that she would kill the new god. Zeus was successful for several millennia, but Hera eventually found out. She put a curse on Hermes. His memory was lost and he was transformed into a newborn infant. She cast him out of Heaven. Until recently, we didn't know what had happened to him."

Angelo's throat constricted. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Phoebus looked at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes and answered the unspoken question. "Yes," he said quietly.

And suddenly, everything fell into place. This was why he'd always been stronger and faster than the other children; why he'd been made fun of for the unusual name he'd had before the orphanage directors changed it; why he'd always felt _different_. "This shouldn't make any sense," Angelo managed to say, "but somehow, it _does_."

"I know," Phoebus said softly, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Constellation_ is an actual Celebrity cruise ship. If you happen to be rich and decide to book a cruise in the Penthouse Suite, you'll discover that it comes with just about everything I've described, from the champagne and butler to the veranda and master bedroom. I can't promise that Apollon and Hermes will be there with you but it's always worth a shot. ;)
> 
> Also, the song is _If You're Gone_ by Matchbox Twenty. I do not own the lyrics. Promise.


	4. To Kiss

They were quiet for several moments. Phoebus was the first to break the silence. "There's one thing I don't understand," he said, twisting a strand of his hair around his index finger. "How did the people at the orphanage know that your name was Hermes?"

"Oh. Well, when they found me I was wrapped in a quilt. My name was sewn onto the corner."

Phoebus stared at him, surprise flitting across his face. "Really? I wonder how that happened," he said with a laugh.

Hermes tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Whenever a new god is born, Hestia makes a quilt especially for that baby. She sews the baby's name onto the corner of the blanket. I don't know how the blanket would have made it down to Earth with you, though."

Angelo thought about that for a moment before asking, "If I'm not nineteen, how old am I?"

"Let me think..."

Angelo watched as Phoebus closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath. It sounded like he was doing complicated calculations.

"You were born sometime between 2935 and 2190 BC," Phoebus finally announced.

"And how old are you, Phoebus?"

"Call me Apollon," the blond said. "And to answer your question, I'm not exactly sure, but I know I'm only five years older than you."

"Apollon," Angelo whispered. The name rolled off his tongue. "Are you really only five years older than me? You seem so..."

Mature? Levelheaded? Angelo wasn't sure, but even though Phoebus's face belonged to someone in his late teens or early twenties, he definitely seemed much older.

Phoebus didn't pressure him to finish the sentence – he merely nodded.

"I'm really hungry," Angelo announced, once again demonstrating his inability to stay on one topic.

Phoebus flashed his brilliant smile and stood up, offering his hand to Angelo.

They headed back to their suite. To Angelo's dismay, Phoebus's (and his) father and uncles were still there. "There you are!" Heber said crossly. "I just sent your butler to prepare our lunch."

Angelo ignored Heber, instead staring at the man he now knew was his father – _and_ the king of the gods. Zenon didn't look old enough to have so many children. His face was strong and angular, with crystal blue eyes beneath golden eyebrows. His nose was aristocratically-straight and his jaw was finely chiseled. A short-sleeved shirt revealed muscular arms.

Angelo could see how so many women had fallen under his spell.

Heber noticed that Angelo was staring at his youngest brother. "You told him, then?" Heber asked Phoebus, who nodded.

"You did?!" Zenon exclaimed delightedly. "Excellent!" He strode forward and embraced Angelo so tightly that the brunette's feet left the ground. "Welcome back to the pantheon, son."

"Dad, you're choking him," he heard Phoebus's voice say. The strong arms released him.

"I wish there'd been a way to save you," Zenon said regretfully. "You really were a chip off the old block. Apollon never got over how you stole his sacred cows from right underneath his nose."

Phoebus scowled. "They weren't _just_ cows. 'Sacred cattle' is the proper term."

Zenon ignored him and kept talking. "And then there was the time you created that little harp, and Apollon wanted to know what it was called. You said 'lyre', and he thought you were calling him a liar."

"Cut it out with all the story-telling," Pelogios said irritably. "You sound like an old lady."

Angelo burst into laughter. "I guess one should not call the god of truth a liar."

"Ha ha ha, very funny. Now could you three _please_ get out of our suite?"

Heber scowled. "What about lunch? The butler – "

"You have your own butler to boss around," Phoebus said testily. "Leave ours alone."

Heber muttered something under his breath, but Phoebus didn't listen. Instead, he herded the three older gods towards the exit.

"Fine, fine, we're going!" Zenon exclaimed, dancing out of the reach of Phoebus's arms. "No need to shepherd us around like your sacred cows..."

_"Get out!"_ Phoebus roared.

The king chuckled and pulled the door open, but then let out a cry of surprise. The butler was directly on the other side, his fist poised to knock. Next to him was a cart loaded with trays. Zenon had nearly run him over.

Heber swiftly stepped around his frozen brother, giving the butler a nasty look as he did so. "You certainly took your time," he huffed, grabbing a roll from one of the trays before stalking down the hall. Zenon and Pelogios followed him, shaking their heads.

"Sorry about that," Phoebus muttered to Angelo as he gestured for the butler to leave the cart. "Our family is a little – er – _dysfunctional._ "

Angelo grinned as he lifted the cover off a tray. " _Everyone_ knows that. People have even written epic poems about it. Imprisoning the queen to her throne, trying to overthrow the king, sleeping with each other…"

Yeah, yeah," Phoebus grumped, waving his hand around. Angelo snickered, remembering that Phoebus had been behind the plot to overthrow Zeus. "Why'd you guys try to oust him, anyway?" he asked around a mouthful of bread.

Phoebus made a face at him, muttering something about bad manners before responding. "He was getting too arrogant."

"And who was going to take his place as king?" Angelo asked slyly.

Phoebus ducked his head. "Poseidon and I," he said shamefully.

Angelo propped his head up in his palm and eyed Phoebus. "I can definitely see you in a fancy crown and one of those red velvet robes," he said with a seductive wink.

Phoebus raised his eyebrows. "Do you want to start sharing secrets?"

"No."

They ate their lunch in silence. Angelo managed to spill crumbs everywhere; he looked foolish next to Phoebus, who handled his silverware with nimble fingers and graceful movements (of course he didn't spill a thing).

Several times, Angelo found himself glancing up at the blond; his eyes would dart over Phoebus's sensuous lips as the tip of the model's tongue poked out to capture a stray drop of water, and his mind (of its own accord, of course) was curious about how those long, slender fingers would feel roaming over his body...

Suddenly, it was hard to swallow his food.

When the butler returned to clean up the dishes, Angelo leapt to his feet. "I'm going to go make a call," he muttered to Phoebus before rushing out of the room.

He dug his cell phone out of his suitcase, hoping that the out-of-country bill wouldn't be ridiculously high, and proceeded to lock himself in the bathroom. His fingers trembled as he tapped in Alex's phone number.

The phone rang five times before his friend picked up. "Hello?"

_"I'm going crazy here!"_ Angelo hissed.

"I think you meant to dial the mental hospital," Alex joked.

"Don't be a smart-ass," Angelo snapped. "I'm serious. _I don't know what to do!_ "

"Alright – calm down and tell me what's going on."

"Well, to start with, I think you were right. I'm in love with Phoebus."

Alex cackled loudly. Angelo winced and held the phone a few inches away from his ear. When the laughter died down, Angelo whispered, "What am I supposed to do?!"

"Well, how were you planning on telling him?"

"I was sort of thinking about _not_ telling him."

Alex snorted. " _C'mon_ , Anie! You're a man, not a schoolgirl with a crush on the captain of the football team."

Angelo privately thought that he'd much rather have a crush on a football player than a Greek god. Aloud, he said, "Well, what am I supposed to say?"

Angelo could almost hear his friend shrug. "Maybe you don't have to say anything. Just kiss him," Alex suggested.

Angelo shifted uncomfortably, holding the phone closer to his ear. "But that could mean that I just want in his pants."

"Alright, so maybe you tear up the sheets with him and _then_ tell him you love him."

His palms were sweaty again. He gripped the phone tighter. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked nervously.

"No," Alex admitted, "but it's worth a shot. Anyway, I've got to go. Good luck, man."

The dial tone sounded in his ear. Angelo cursed and hit the end button. He spent several moments debating whether or not he should just stay in the bathroom, but then sighed and opened the door. To his dismay, Phoebus was just outside the door, covering himself with tanning lotion and humming softly. 

Angelo must have had a strange look on his face, because when Phoebus saw him, he stopped humming and stared. "What's wrong?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"N—nothing," he stammered. "But I still can't believe you tan."

The concern faded away. Phoebus smiled and shrugged. "I guess I'm comfortable with my masculinity. I don't feel the need to protect it. You shouldn't, either. You _are_ a Greek god, you know."

"Yeah," Angelo muttered. "I still haven't come to terms with that."

"Even so," the blond began, setting down the bottle of lotion and turning to face Angelo, "it's so great to have you back in my life. We used to spend so much time together that I felt like I lost a piece of myself when Hera threw you out of Heaven. Now…" he took a deep breath, "I feel like I'm whole again." He looked Angelo up and down and grinned. "It's weird to see you dressed like that, though. Last time I saw you, we were both dressed in chitons and chlamydes. You were wearing that ridiculous petasos."

Angelo blinked. "Uh...that ridiculous– _huh?_ "

Phoebus raised his eyebrows. "The traveler's cap? Oh, that reminds me…" He turned around and opened a drawer. Angelo watched as he rummaged around. When he straightened up, he was holding a large box. "This is for you."

Angelo took it and set it on the bed. He pulled out his pocket knife and proceeded to slice through the tape and rip the box open in a very undignified manner.

He let out a loud gasp.

Resting inside were a pair of golden sandals. Attached to each of the sandals were delicate white wings. Angelo lifted them out and gingerly sat them on the bed before peeking back into the box. There was a golden band, also with white wings, and a floppy straw hat with a long string attached to it. Angelo assumed that the latter was the "ridiculous petasos".

Angelo stared at the items in silence. These things had to be thousands of years old, but the gold was shining like it was new.

After several moments, Phoebus stepped forward and picked up the gold band. He placed it over Angelo's dark curls.

It was a perfect fit.

***

That night, Angelo crawled into bed with his laptop. Phoebus – _Apollon,_ Angelo thought to himself – was already under the covers with a book. He smiled at Angelo.

"What?" Angelo asked him, settling against the pillows.

"You look so adorable with those glasses on."

Angelo blushed and reached up to touch his face, where the glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose. "Thanks, I guess."

Apollon nodded and turned back to his book. Angelo booted up his laptop with a tiny smile on his lips.

There were four new messages in his inbox. The first was from John, inquiring whether he had been keeping up with his Modern Greek studies. The other three were from Alex. In the first two, his friend asked if he had had the guts to 'make out with that sexy blond' yet. The most recent message contained Alex's own personal rendition of "Phoebus and Anie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G". Angelo snorted and deleted the message.

He was in the middle of writing a response to John when the instant message box popped up.

_**Acestor7:** It's been a while. _

Angelo blinked at the screen. Sometime during the past week, he had completely forgotten about Acestor.

_**Dolios4:** Yeah, I guess so._

He stole a quick glance at Apollon, but the model was completely immersed in his book.

_**Acestor7:** What have you been doing lately?_

_**Dolios4:** I'm on a cruise with a friend. We're going to Greece._

_**Acestor7:** I love Greece. Have you been there before?_

Angelo began to type 'no', but then realized that he had, in fact, been to Greece before.

_**Dolios4:** Yeah, but I was young so I don't exactly remember it._ **Acestor7:** Make sure you visit the Acropolis.

Angelo grinned. "Which one?" he typed, for he knew that there were several acropoleis in Greece.

_**Acestor7:** The one in Athens, of course. Maybe I'll see you there._

Angelo raised his eyebrows.

_**Dolios4:** What do you mean? _

But there was never any reply.

"That idiot," Angelo muttered to himself.

"To whom are you referring?" Apollon mumbled, not bothering to raise his eyes from the book.

"No one," Angelo grumped, slamming the laptop shut and setting it on the bedside table. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "Can you shut that light off? I'm exhausted."

"I'm not done reading." It was a statement, not an argument. Angelo narrowed his eyes. Quicker than human eyes would be able to register, he reached out and snatched the book from the blond's hands.

Apollon gasped in surprise. When he realized what had happened, he snapped, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Going to sleep," Angelo retorted, tossing the book aside. "Now turn off that light."

Apollon raised one golden eyebrow, once again demonstrating his ability to look both amused and exasperated.

It was that expression that made Angelo's heart melt inside his chest. He felt his self-control snap in half. No longer caring about the consequences, he lunged across the bed and captured Apollon's lips in a hungry kiss.

His fear of rejection evaporated almost instantly. Apollon let out a moan of pleasure and grabbed Angelo by the shoulders, shoving him down against the pillows and then straddling his hips. Angelo let out a gasp at this response and Apollon took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He mumbled something that sounded like "want you so bad" in Greek, so Angelo breathed _"Isai klevis tyri mou"_ into his mouth. He was pretty sure that it translated to something like "You take my breath away

He was confused when Apollon started giggling hysterically.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"You just told me that I steal your cheese," Apollon explained, trying (and failing) to control his laughter as he pressed a kiss to the corner of the brunette's mouth.

Angelo grinned at his mistake before grabbing the model's hips and forcing them against his own. Apollon brushed his cheek against Angelo's, and the younger man could smell the scent of the shampoo the blond used and some sort of spicy-smelling cologne. The scent was strangely erotic.

It seemed like Apollon's hands were everywhere at once. Sliding beneath his shirt and touching his stomach, his chest, his biceps, his face…

"Need you," Angelo managed to gasp as he writhed beneath Apollon's body. At some point, both his and Apollon's shirts and been removed and thrown aside. He reached out blindly and managed to get ahold of the waistband of Apollon's pants. It was at that moment that the blond's body froze above him.

Angelo froze as well. "What's wrong?"

"I – I can't do this." With that, he slid off the bed and backed away.

"What? Why?" Angelo demanded, struggling to sit up. He was finding it hard to think through the waves of confusion and lust.

"Because you barely know me," Apollon explained, pulling his shirt back on. Angelo nearly whimpered when the view of that perfectly sculpted chest was taken away from him. "You've only known me for what? Two weeks?"

The confusion was rapidly being replaced by frustration, and Angelo managed to scowl at the beautiful deity in front of him. "According to _someone_ , I've actually known you for thousands of years."

"But you don't remember any of that," Apollon argued.

"So what?" Angelo protested angrily. "Haven't you ever acted on an impulse before?"

Apollon frowned. "Yes, I have. And it never ended very well. I just –" He seemed to struggle for words. "I don't want you to sleep with me just because I'm pretty."

"I don't want to sleep with you because you're pretty!" Angelo said loudly, waving his arms above his head in an uncanny impression of Alex. "I want to sleep with you because –" He paused and blinked, thinking as rapidly as he could. When he came up blank, he growled in frustration. "Well, there has to be _something!_ "

Apollon shook his head.

"This doesn't make any sense," Angelo continued, feeling his anger deepen. "I know we've only known each other for a couple of weeks, and I know that I don't really know anything about you, but somehow, someway, I do know that I – I –"  
"Yes?" Apollon pressed. His eyes were alight with curiosity.

"I know that I love you!" Angelo burst out.

Apollon's eyes widened to the size of saucers at the unexpected revelation. "You – _you love me?_ endearing."

Apollon made a face. "You think dirt is endearing?"

Angelo huffed and put his hands on his hips. "I'm pouring out my heart to you and that's what you're thinking about?"

Apollon smiled apologetically. "Of course not. I've always loved you, you know. First as a friend, and then – well, as more than a friend. We were in a relationship."

Angelo blinked. "We were?"

The blond nodded. "Mhm. Only for a few months, though. Things started to fall apart after Zeus tried to force me to marry Demeter's daughter."

Angelo raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth for a brief second, and then decided that it might be best to not ask for an explanation. "Okay, then," he said instead.

They were silent for several moments. Angelo remained on the bed with his arms and legs crossed; he looked very much like a sexually-frustrated teenager. "Have you ever loved anyone else?" he suddenly asked. He wasn't sure what prompted him to ask that question.

Apollon looked surprised. "Do you mean before or after I fell in love with you?"

"Afterwards, of course. You know, like in modern times." He waved his hand around. "I know all about your crazy, historical love life."

"You shouldn't believe everything you read in books," Apollo reprimanded, looking slightly annoyed. "I'm ninety-nine percent positive that Apollodorus hated me."

"Are you saying that none of it's true?"

"No," Apollon admitted, blushing slightly. "But still…"

"Anyway," Angelo said, changing the subject for the sake of the blond. "You never answered my question."

"That's because I've been thinking of the answer. No, I don't believe I ever loved another after I fell in love with you."

At that moment, it was comforting to know that a lie could not fall from Apollon's heavenly lips. For some reason, the thought of Apollon being with another man or woman made him wince.

Apollon smiled slightly, almost as if he had heard that thought go through Angelo's mind. It took a minute for the brunette to put two and two together.

"Wait a second," he said slowly. _"Can you read minds?!_ " 

What had originally been a small smile was now a full-fledged grin. "It's not exactly mind-reading, but my ability to see things before they happen gives me certain insights into what people are thinking."

Angelo frowned, feeling rather violated. His mind was supposed to be a safe, personal place. "Well, isn't that just lovely," he muttered to himself.

Apollon laughed. "Calm down, Hermes. The mind is a complex thing. It would be impossible to know everything that is going through a person's head."

Angelo blinked at the use of what he supposed was his true name. Apollon noticed this and said, "I'm sorry. It's an old habit."

Before Angelo could wave off his apologies, a wide yawn escaped his mouth.

"I guess it's time for us to go to bed," Apollon said, amused. Angelo murmured an agreement and crawled back under the covers. Apollon joined him seconds later, and the lights were finally turned off. _"S'agapo,"_ Angelo murmured into Apollon's ear.

Just before he fell asleep, Angelo heard Apollon's melodic voice whispering, _"K'ego s'agapo, 'Ermis."_

***

The next week went by far too quickly for Angelo's taste. Before he knew it, they were sailing through the Strait of Gibraltar with Morocco on one side and Spain on the other. The Mediterranean Sea was dead ahead.

Apollon and Angelo were on the upper deck, enjoying their first sight of land in weeks, and, in Angelo's case, learning more about geography.

"This is the Costa del Sol," Apollon said, sweeping his hand in Spain's direction. "And that," he pointed at a city in the distance, "is Malaga, where we will be making a port of call stop."

"A what?"

"Never mind," Apollon said with a roll of his eyes.

The blond kept a firm grip on Angelo's upper arm when they disembarked, mainly because the younger man was paying absolutely no attention to where he was going. His jaw was hanging open and he was staring in awe at everything around them.

The city was absolutely gorgeous. The Malaga Mountains were visible to the north and the Mediterranean Sea sparkled in the south. "Wow," Angelo breathed.

They had eight hours until they had to board the Constellation, so naturally Apollon insisted on dragging Angelo to the main tourist sites. Their first stop was what Apollon called _La Alcazaba,_ which, the older god later explained, translated to the Citadel. "It was built in the eleventh century by the Moors," Apollon said, taking Angelo by the hand and dragging him through a garden towards one of the palaces. When they had finished the tour at Alcazaba, they took a bus to the neighboring fortress, the _Castillo de Gibralfaro._ "This is where Ferdinand and Isabella laid their siege," Apollon explained. "It lasted for three months."

That was how they spent the next three hours; by the time they had finished the tour of the Roman theatre, Angelo was exhausted. "No more touring!" he'd said firmly when Apollon opened his mouth. But the god had simply smiled and given a small shake of his head.

They took a taxi to a small, cozy restaurant, where Apollon treated him to dinner. "I have no idea what any of this stuff is," Angelo whispered to him, scanning the menu, written only in Spanish, with a worried expression.

"Don't worry," Apollon assured him. "I'll order for both of us."

When the waiter arrived, Apollon conversed with him in fluent Spanish. The young man, pleased that a foreigner was able to speak his language so well, brought them their drinks on the house. He gave Apollon a sultry wink as he poured his wine.

Angelo wasn't amused. "I think you have an admirer," he said in a surly voice when the man had left.

"Excuse me?" Apollon asked, genuinely confused.

"The waiter was practically undressing you with his eyes."

"Are you jealous?"

But before Angelo had a chance to answer, Apollon reached across the table and picked up one of the brunette's hands. He kissed the palm, and the feel of his lips against the sensitive skin sent tingles up and down Angelo's spine. Then he kissed each of the fingers in turn. The gesture was both so sweet and so sensual that Angelo wasn't quite sure how to react.

"I have eyes for no one but you," Apollon said simply. He didn't need to say anything else.

Angelo was left dazed but comforted.

"Now stop moping," Apollon said. "It's bad for your complexion."

"I wasn't moping," Angelo protested. "I was _brooding._ "

Apollon responded with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

After dinner, they made their way back to the _Constellation_. Night had fallen over the city. Angelo gazed at the sight of the twinkling lights in awe.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Apollon whispered in his ear. Angelo nodded mutely. "We're going to be in Greece soon," the blond continued, almost sounding disappointed. Angelo looked up at him curiously, silently asking him to explain.

"I know people say that Greece is the birthplace of homosexuality," Apollon began, "but it's not like that anymore. People aren't as accepting as they used to be."

Angelo shrugged nonchalantly. "I think we'll be okay, Apollon. We haven't even slept together yet."

Apollon's response to that sentence was highly unexpected. His expression became thoughtful, as though he was considering the idea.

Angelo's breath hitched in his throat. He wasn't sure if he should be hopeful or not. _Are we finally going to do this?_

The thought was confirmed when Apollon leaned forward to give him a kiss that was somehow both tender and suggestive. Angelo's eyes opened wide and he took a step back. "What – what are you doing?" he gasped.

"You mentioned that we haven't slept together yet," Apollon said softly. "I was hoping we could change that tonight."

"Are you sure this time?" Angelo asked dubiously. Apollon laughed lightly but nodded, taking Angelo's hand and gently pulling him in the direction of their suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I do not speak Greek, so I'm not entirely sure the part about the cheese is correct. However, _s'agapo_ does mean "I love you", and _k'ego s'agapo_ is "I love you too".


	5. End of the Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there is the beginning of a sex scene in this chapter, but it's nothing graphic yet (which is why this story is not rated explicit). I'm trying to rewrite it for a better reading experience, but it's not something I particularly enjoy so it might take awhile. It might be left off altogether.

Angelo's head was spinning by the time they got there, and he found himself wondering why he hadn't bothered doing any research on sexual acts between two men.

_I hope I don't make myself look stupid._

"Um—Apollon?" Angelo said hesitantly. "I've never done this with another man…"

But Apollon wasn't listening. As soon as the door closed behind them, the blond spun around, grabbing fistfuls of Angelo's hair and tilting his head up as he attacked his lips in a passionate kiss.

Angelo was frozen for a split second, but then he forced his lips to respond—keeping up with the fast pace that Apollon was setting was no easy challenge.

Angelo was vaguely aware of the stereo playing in the background…when had it been turned on?

_"Like the look in your eyes on the day that we first met…walking on the beach, kissing as the sun sets…"_

Apollon broke away from the kiss and rested his forehead against Angelo's—the younger god grasped Apollon's hips to steady himself as he attempted to catch his breath. "I remember the look in your eyes on the day we first met," Apollon whispered. "Well, I suppose it wasn't actually the first time we met, but you know what I mean."

"You do?" Angelo managed to ask.

"Yes. You looked horrified to be caught reading my mail." The blond began to snort with laughter at the memory.

Angelo jerked his head up and glowered at his lover. "I was _not_ reading your mail! I –"

He let out a grunt of surprise when Apollon leapt forward and captured his lips in another kiss that, if it was possible, was even rougher than the last one. He stumbled backwards, tripped over his own feet, and ended up flat on his back with Apollon's full weight on top of him. " _Ugh,_ Apollon," he groaned. "How much do you weigh? No more honey puffs for you!"

Apollon straightened up at that, straddling Angelo's waist and placing his hands on his hips. "Are you calling me fat?" he demanded.

In any other situation, Angelo might have cowered under that piercing glare. But Apollon's ivory cheeks were tinted pink, his hair was tumbling over his shoulders in messy curls, and his shirt was rumpled. It was hard to take him seriously. Angelo began to giggle.

Apollon's jaw dropped open. "First you call me fat, and then you laugh at me. If you were anyone else, I would have killed you by now."

Angelo only giggled harder—he almost sounded hysterical.

Apollon's glare intensified. "I am a _god!_ Do you know what people would give to be in your place right now? You should be bowing before me, kissing my feet –"

His rant was cut off when Angelo grabbed his waist and flipped them over, putting Apollon in the submissive position. "I'm a god too," the brunette said smugly, "and forgive me if I don't want to kiss your feet—you're hot and all, but still…"

Apollon's response was to lift his head and bite Angelo's bottom lip hard. It should have hurt, and Angelo thought that he should probably have reprimanded the blond instead of moaning, but that wasn't how it worked out. He whimpered and pressed closer to the god beneath him. Apollon's strong legs lifted up and wrapped around his waist, forcing their hips together in a way that made Angelo inhale sharply. The feeling ended too soon when Apollon flipped over, dragging Angelo with him—the brunette was once again left on the floor, wrapped in Apollon's arms and legs. Angelo groaned, just now realizing how warm Apollon was. His forehead was covered in beads of sweat.

Angelo stared up at him, panting slightly. "This – this isn't very romantic," he managed to say.

"I'm not a very romantic god," Apollon said roughly, and when had his voice gotten so erotic? Angelo shivered and grabbed the back of Apollon's head, bringing their mouths together in a messy kiss. Their tongues met in a battle for dominance – a battle that Apollon quickly won. His body seemed to be burning against Angelo, and he was kissing the brunette senseless, making him lose awareness of everything that wasn't Apollon.

Angelo thought that he could probably spend the rest of forever kissing Apollon. His tongue was talented and his lips were deliciously soft, but Apollon's hands were fumbling with the button's on Angelo's shirt, making it clear that he had other things in mind. He seemed to grow frustrated with the buttons; with a mere flick of the blond's wrist, the shirt was ripped off his body. Warm, slightly callused fingers were running over every inch of Angelo's skin, tracing his ribs and teasing his nipples until Angelo let out a whimper. 

Apollon was wearing entirely too many clothes, Angelo decided as he gave the other god's shirt an impatient tug. Apollon got the point; he sat up briefly and a second later, the shirt was being thrown over his shoulder. Then Angelo found himself fumbling with the clasp on Apollon's pants. The blond leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. Emerald eyes met sapphire. "Do it," Apollon whispered. 

***

Angelo awoke the next morning to the sound of snickering. There was a warm arm wrapped around his waist, and he could feel Apollon's chest against his back. The blond was breathing steadily, clearly still asleep.

At some point during the night, Angelo had kicked the blankets and sheets off his body—no doubt because sleeping with Apollon wrapped around him had satisfied his body's need for warmth. He gave a small hum of content – and then froze. If Apollon was still asleep, then who was laughing?

He lifted his head and instantly gave a small shriek (which was not at all girlish). Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades were standing at the foot of the bed wearing identical smirks.

"What are you doing in here?!" Angelo demanded. "Don't you have any respect for peoples' privacy?"

"No," they said in unison, and Angelo felt his face flush in annoyance. Then Zeus decided to make the situation ten times worse by commenting, "I see you decided to consummate your relationship."

At first Angelo wondered how Zeus had known that. And then he remembered that he was completely naked.

"Get out!" he roared.

For all the attention they paid, he might as well have not spoken at all. "We thought you should know that we're in Greece," Poseidon said absently, pulling open one of the dresser drawers and glancing inside.

Angelo opened his mouth but before he could tell Poseidon to stop being nosy, Zeus spoke up. "You might want to get dressed soon." The king pointedly eyed his nakedness, but that was the least of Angelo's worries; he had just noticed that Hades had picked up his cell phone and was scrolling through his texts. _"Hey!"_ he shouted angrily. "Put that down!"

"Who's Alex?" Hades asked instead.

"What are you three doing in here?" Apollon's voice suddenly demanded. Angelo looked to the side and saw that his lover had sat up; his blue eyes were narrowed at the intruders. Angelo gave a sigh of relief.

"We're in Greece," Poseidon repeated. He had pulled a pair of Angelo's underwear out of the drawer and was holding them up for the entire room to see. "Do you actually wear these?"

Angelo looked at Apollon, silently begging for help. Apollon response was to shrug. "Just ignore them. They're still curious about the modern world—and I don't think their mother ever taught them any manners."

"Maybe that's because our father swallowed us before she could," Hades snapped.

Apollon grinned at him before climbing out of bed. He snatched a pair of pants out of Poseidon's hands and pulled them on.

"Hurry up," Zeus said impatiently. "Everyone's waiting."

"If you rush me, I'll hit you over the head with your own thunderbolt," Apollon shot over his shoulder.

Angelo smiled to himself as Zeus muttered something about how that wasn't even possible. He couldn't wait to meet the rest of the family. It was bound to be an interesting experience.

***

Angelo and Apollon headed to a train station after disembarking. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades seemed to have disappeared.

Angelo was confused when Apollon purchased tickets to Thessaly. "Shouldn't we be going to Olympia?"

"Why would we go there?"

"Isn't that where the gods live?"

Apollon laughed. "Hardly. Olympia is in the opposite direction." He gestured towards the south. "Mount Olympus is in Thessaly. Similar names but two different places."

"Oh. I never knew that."

Apollon gave him an affectionate smile. When they boarded the train and began to move out of Piraeus, the blond began teaching him different things about their native country. "A lot of the olive trees we harvest were planted in the thirteenth century," Apollon pointed out as the train flew past an olive grove. "Olive oil was an essential ingredient of hard soap, which had become very popular during that time. Thus, there was a higher demand for olives."

"Interesting."

Two hours later, Angelo was bored out of his mind. Even the beautiful Greek scenery wasn't able to hold his attention. "I'm tired of holding still," he whined, fidgeting in his seat. Apollon, sipping some sort of pink beverage that he called "Vyssinatha", eyed him over the rim of the cup. Angelo couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed. He didn't care enough to find out.

When they arrived in Larisa, they got off the train and immediately boarded a bus. "Not again," Angelo complained upon sitting down. Apollon rolled his eyes at the younger man. "Relax. It's only two more hours."

"Two hours?" Angelo squeaked.

"You're thousands of years old," Apollon snapped. "Surely you can survive another two hours."

Angelo crossed his arms and scowled. "Why are you snapping at me? Aren't you supposed to be the god of patientness or something like that?"

"Keep your voice down!" Apollon hissed. "And 'patientness' isn't even a word!"

Angelo opened his mouth to argue but then realized that Apollon was correct.

He scowled harder.

When they finally arrived in Litochoro, Angelo was the first one off the bus. He leapt into the air several times, happy to be able to stretch his legs. Apollon, much more dignified, waited for his lover to stop jumping around like a monkey before pointing to the east. "Look," the blond said softly.

Mount Olympus was a beautiful sight. The peak, just visible over the town, was snowy white.

"Wow," Angelo breathed, all prior irritation forgotten.

Apollon smiled at him and took his hand. "Let's go see the family."

Suddenly, Angelo was wary. "We're not going to have to hike all the way up there, are we?"

"Do I look like I'm dressed for hiking?" Apollon asked dryly, releasing his hand. Angelo glanced at him and saw his point. The model was dressed in a lead-colored Armani shirt with the cuffs rolled up and the top two buttons undone. His pants were crisp and white, hugging his slender hips. Shiny leather shoes completed the ensemble.

"I find it ironic that a Greek god is dressed in Italian clothes," Angelo commented. "But those pants make your butt look good."

Apollon blinked at the unexpected compliment. "…thank you?"

"No problem. But if we're not hiking, how are we going to get up there?"

Apollon brushed his hair out of his face and squinted up at the mountain. "First of all, the palace isn't actually on the mountain; it's just in that general area. Second of all, you keep forgetting that we're gods. Our means of travelling aren't quite as limited as those of mortals."

"Then why did we bother sailing all the way here and taking that stupid train? Actually, I take that back. The train wasn't as bad as the bus." He made a face.

Apollon chose to ignore the last two sentences. "If we hadn't, you wouldn't have been able to see all of this." He made a sweeping motion with his hand to indicate the Greek countryside. "But enough chitchat. We're going to be late." He glanced at his watch with a frown before grabbing Angelo's wrist and dragging him behind a building, much to the brunette's dismay.

Before Angelo had time to complain, there was a bright flash of golden light. For a brief second, his entire body felt like it was on fire. A wavy of dizziness overtook him, and he instinctively closed his eyes. Wind roared in his ears.

And then it stopped.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

He was standing before a massive cloud, but it wasn't like any cloud he had ever seen before. It appeared to be shimmering with thousands of different colors. The sight was both beautiful and disconcerting.

Apollon, mistaking his shock for confusion, leaned close and whispered, "The colors let them know which of the gods are on the mountain."

"What—?"

Apollo pushed him forward gently. "Touch the gate."

Angelo had barely stumbled forward when a woman appeared mere inches from him and said, "Welcome to Olympus."

"Thanks, I think," Angelo mumbled, dazed by the entire situation.

Apollon stepped forward. "Hello, Karpo," he greeted her, pulling her into an embrace. "Where are your sisters?"

"They're with the Muses, awaiting your return. It's been so long since we've seen you," she said regretfully, returning his hug.

"I know," the blond said sadly. "Zeus sent me on an errand. I wasn't allowed to return until it was completed." At this, they both turned and gazed at Angelo. The brunette suddenly felt self-conscious under their scrutiny.

"He looks exactly the same as he did nineteen years ago," Karpo commented.

Apollon hummed in agreement. "Mhm. He's still short. Hair is unruly. Chin is too pointy. Shoulders are–"

"Hey!" Angelo protested, cutting off the listing of his faults.

"I was just having a little fun," Apollon said sincerely, offering him an innocent smile.

"But you can't tell a lie!"

Apollon's smile widened and Angelo scowled. "Don't even get me started on your faults," the younger god threatened.

"What faults?" It was a rhetorical question, but the brunette was all too eager to answer. Karpo grinned as Angelo began ranting about all of the things that were wrong with her longtime friend, and with a wave of her hand, the massive cloud began to split apart, forming a gateway to the palace. Apollon strode forward, ignoring the indignant god at his side.

"You are way too critical. I mean, nothing is good enough for you. And you always have to be the best at everything. You're too caught up in your looks. You're too beautiful. I think it –"

As soon as they passed through the gate, he stopped abruptly. "Wow," he breathed, completely dumbfounded.

The palace was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen before. It seemed to be built on a floating piece of land. If one looked down, they would be able to see the cities of Greece. The structures were made entirely out of white marble. Long walkways appeared to lead to different sections of the palace.

Apollon's hand on his elbow snapped him out of his trance. "Come on," the blond urged. He led them up an open stairway towards a building with a domed top. "This is where the king and queen live," Apollo explained as they walked past the structure. They soon emerged in a massive courtyard. There was a fountain in the center, complete with a statue of Zeus. As Angelo gazed around, he noticed that there were five doors on either side of the courtyard – ten in all. "This is where the rest of us live," Apollon explained, as though he had read Angelo's thoughts. "I'll show you your room later, but we have to keep moving. We're already late." The blond took his hand and led him through the courtyard and then to the left. Another walkway led them directly to a set of massive double doors. Without hesitating, Apollon pulled them open and headed inside. Angelo followed, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is _Making Memories_ by Lonestar. Obviously I still don't own the lyrics.


	6. Family

Just as Angelo had suspected, the room was filled with beautiful people. Everywhere he looked there was a person with sparkling white teeth and a perfect complexion. He instantly recognized Zeus, Poseidon, Hades and Andrew, but everyone else was a stranger. He didn't need to look to know that they were watching him, their eyes alight with curiosity.

The room was lined with thrones of all different sizes and colors. Angelo counted five on each side of the hall. Glancing up, he saw that the ceiling was painted sky-blue. Probably a symbol the king's power, he decided. After all, Zeus did rule the sky.

At the front of the hall were two more thrones, both considerably larger than the other ten. One was black, the other white. Several rows of chairs took up the space in the center of the room.

Apollon took Angelo by surprise when he let out a sudden shout. "Artemis!" He darted towards a nearby woman, leaving a startled Angelo behind. He swept her off her feet and spun her around several times, laughing all the while. "Hermes, come here!" the blond ordered after the stranger's feet were back on the ground.

Angelo obeyed, slowly stepping forward.

"This is Artemis," Apollon said once Angelo was standing before them.

_So this is Apollon's twin,_ Angelo thought to himself, and the resemblance was obvious. She had the same sapphire eyes, the same ivory skin, and the same straight nose. Her hair, longer than her brother's and full of soft curls, was golden-brown. She stood taller than Hermes; in fact, she was almost as tall as Apollon.

"It's good to see you again, Hermes," she said, but before he could respond, a second shout echoed through the room. "Sit down!"

Angelo's eyes traveled to the front of the room. Zeus was standing in front of the black throne, towering over his subjects. He was surprised to see that the king was no longer dressed in modern clothing; instead, he wore a fustanella and nothing else. Several gold necklaces rested against his powerful chest. On his forearms were ornate armbands.

Once again, Apollon had to touch Angelo's arm in order to get his attention. "Your throne is over there," the blond whispered, pointing at the fourth seat on the left side of the room. Even from a distance, Angelo could see that the throne was gray—the arms were shaped like what appeared to be the heads of rams. He headed in that direction.

The fifth throne was already occupied by a god who, in appearance, looked to be no more than sixteen years of age. His face was framed by hair the color of rich chocolate, and the slight blush of his cheeks that gave him the appearance of an innocent youth. His eyes were half-closed, as though he was meditating. When Angelo spotted the crown of ivy on his head, he realized that this god must be Dionysus.

Zeus began to speak, and Angelo quickly slid into his throne. As he sat down, he realized that the seat was covered with some sort of fur.

"Today is a very important day," the king was announcing happily. "The eleventh Olympian has rejoined the pantheon after nineteen long years!"

All eyes fell on Angelo. From across the room, Apollon was smiling at him reassuringly.

"Hermes, would you please come here?" Zeus asked, beaming in his direction. Angelo obeyed, leaving his throne barely a minute after he had sat on it and heading towards the large dais at the front of the room. As he walked, he noticed that the white throne next to Zeus's was empty. He wondered where the queen could possibly be.

When he arrived in front of his father, Zeus immediately threw an arm around his shoulders. "I would like to introduce the family to you, Son," Zeus told him, giving him a squeeze and then leading him forward. To Angelo's surprise, Zeus ignored the gods sitting on the thrones and instead headed towards the rows of chairs. "You already know who I am, of course," Zeus said as they walked. "But I will formally introduce myself. I am Zeus, King of Heaven and father of gods and men. This," he gestured towards his eldest brother, "is Hades, Lord of the Underworld and ruler of the dead. He doesn't usually leave his kingdom, so don't expect to see much of him." That statement earned a dark scowl from the lord of the dead. Zeus ignored it and moved on. Next in line was a goddess with a gentle, motherly face. "This is Hestia, goddess of the hearth," Zeus announced, looking at his eldest sister with deep affection. "She's the one constant here at Olympus. She takes care of our food and clothes and is always here to welcome us home."

"You're the one who sewed my blanket," Angelo remembered.

"Indeed I am," she said with a smile that made Angelo feel warm and content. On an impulse, he stepped forward and enveloped her in a tight hug which she gladly returned. "It's so good to have you back," she whispered in his ear. "Olympus was never the same without you."

"Really?"

She nodded as she stepped back and returned to her seat.

And so Zeus continued to introduce him to the seemingly endless line of gods and goddesses. He met Themis, Iris, Nemesis, Aidos, the three Graces, Karpo's two sisters, and countless others. By the time they were done, Angelo's wrist was sore from so many handshakes and his shoulders were bruised after being hugged by too many overly enthusiastic gods.

"Now it's time to meet the Olympians!" Zeus said blithely, and Angelo had to refrain from sighing out loud. The king led Angelo to the first throne on the right side of the room, and Angelo noticed that it was nearly as large of Zeus's. The white marble was streaked with different shades of green and decorated with a number of stones that Angelo didn't recognize. In the seat, Poseidon was somehow managing to look both bored and dignified. Angelo wondered if he was imagining the fleck of cruelty in Poseidon's green-blue eyes. The sea god's lips were pursed into a thin line, showing his disdain for the situation.

"You already know Poseidon," Zeus said to Angelo. "He's the lord of the seas and rivers." Then Zeus leaned closer to Angelo and said under his breath, "His temper is worse than our brother's. Don't get on his bad side." Then in a louder voice he announced, "Moving on!"

The next throne, made of a stone with an interesting shade of green—malachite, Angelo thought—was occupied by a woman who strongly resembled Hestia. Her hair was the color of ripe barley; her eyes, the color of ground corn. Woven poppies crowned her head.

When Zeus and Angelo stopped in front of her, she stood up with a smile and took one of Angelo's hands in both of her own. "I've missed you so much, little messenger," she said. "I've thought about you every day and prayed for your safe return." She pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks.

As Angelo followed his father to the next throne, he wondered who the gods pray to.

"That's Ares," Zeus said carelessly, pointing to the god that Angelo knew as Andrew before immediately moving on to the next throne where Apollon sat. Angelo saw hurt flicker across the warrior god's eyes. Pity welled up inside him, and he stepped closer to his dark-haired brother, holding out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Ares," he said, trying not to look at the other god's throne…it was brass, and the seat was covered with something that looked horribly like human skin.

Ares took his hand and shook it, and Angelo realized just how strong his older brother was—he winced, hoping his arm would remain in its socket.

"Alright, that's enough," Zeus snapped. "Get over here."

Angelo released the hand and made his way over to Zeus's side, shooting his father a sheepish expression. Zeus continued as though nothing had happened.

"Obviously you already know Apollon," Zeus said dryly, and Angelo found himself hoping that his father wasn't about to share the incident from earlier with the entire room. But then the king moved on and he breathed a sigh of relief.

On the other side of Apollon was one of the most elegantly beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face. Her bright gray eyes, ancient and wise, seemed to be analyzing him.

"My name is Athena," she finally said, and without thinking, Angelo responded, "I know."

Nothing else was said, and they moved on.

There were only four gods left on the other side of the room. He didn't need Zeus to introduce any of them. He'd already met Dionysus and Artemis, so the remaining two had to be Aphrodite and Hephaestus.

As Zeus led him in their direction, he noticed that Hephaestus looked rather unhappy. His fingers were tapping against the side of his throne in an irate manner. To his left, Aphrodite appeared to be equally cross.

Angelo wasn't the only one who noticed.

"What's going on now?" the king demanded, glaring first at Aphrodite and then at Hephaestus.

The lame god didn't need to be asked twice. "I found her in bed with him!" he said, pointing at Dionysus. The young god didn't even flinch at the accusation. In fact, he yawned to convey his boredom. Angelo snickered slightly.

Zeus snorted. "We've been over this, son. If you wanted to keep her under control, you shouldn't have made her that girdle."

At first, Angelo wondered what on Earth Zeus was talking about. And then he remembered the story of Aphrodite's magic girdle: It was an invention that made her irresistible to any man that laid eyes on her. With this in mind, he immediately averted his eyes away from the goddess.

Hephaestus didn't have an argument, and Aphrodite threw a smug look in his direction.

"Alright, enough of this nonsense," Zeus said impatiently. He put his hand on Angelo's shoulder. "Your little brother is home! Aren't you going to welcome him back?"

Hephaestus mumbled a sulky 'hello'. Aphrodite's greeting was more personable, but she didn't bother to get up from her seat (to Angelo's relief).

"You're both hopeless," Zeus declared. He shook his head in exasperation before turning back to Angelo. "I know you've already met Dionysus and Artemis, so I suppose that's everyone."

"So can we show him his room now?" Dionysus asked hopefully, jumping up from his throne. Angelo was unsurprised to hear that his voice was as pretty as his face.

_"'We'?"_ Hades said delicately. "Excuse me, but some of us have better things to do."

There were murmurs of agreement from the older gods, and suddenly there was a loud clamor as everyone began to leave their seats. Several of the gods disappeared with bright flashes of light; others simply ventured out the doors. Soon, all that remained were Apollon, Dionysus, and, much to Angelo's surprise, Ares.

"Well, let's get going," Dionysus said cheerfully. Apollon glanced at him, his lips twisting into a knowing smirk. "So, little brother…what's the real reason you want to come with us?"

Angelo looked at Dionysus with interest, also curious to hear the reason why the brother he had yet to speak to was so eager to accompany him.

"I hate it when you ask questions you already know the answer to," Dionysus muttered, but his expression had turned sheepish.

"You can enlighten the rest of the group," Apollon laughed, waving his hand at Ares and Angelo.

"I already know the answer," Ares spoke up, his deep voice slightly bitter. "I'm here for the same reason."

"Great. Now I'm the only one left in the dark." Angelo gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Allow me to explain," Apollon said as he began to walk towards the exit. He was obviously taking great delight in the discomfort of his brothers. "Once every century or so, Hephaestus goes on the warpath trying to catch Aphrodite and her lovers in embarrassing situations. When he does catch them, he brings in all the other gods to mock and ridicule them. Dionysus doesn't want to end up like Ares, trapped in a net with his parents and siblings gawking up at him like some sort of animal, and Ares doesn't want to repeat the experience—as much as we would all love to see him naked and humiliated again." He winked at Ares and then turned away, leading the group along. Angelo didn't think he'd ever seen Apollon looking so happy. His lover was practically skipping.

"Did I mention that I hate you?" Ares growled at the blond's back.

Apollon snickered. "It's come up before. Ah, here we are." He came to a halt.

They were back in the courtyard, standing in front of the first door on the right. A name was carved into the door—even though it was written in ancient Greek letters, Angelo could tell that it read _Hermes_. 

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" Ares said impatiently, glancing around as though he expected Hephaestus, or perhaps Aphrodite, to jump out from behind a bush.

So Angelo reached out and turned the knob.

Splashes of bright colors instantly met his eyes, and he had to blink several times to get accustomed to it. Green draperies hung from the marble walls, giving the room a majestic feel. A large aquarium covered the west wall. Half of the bottom was covered with real grass; the other half with rocks. There was a large pan full of water, several hollow logs, and tall plants. A large light illuminated the enclosure. Angelo spotted a tortoise basking in the rays.

"I see that Artemis has been taking care of your pets while you've been away," Apollo commented, moving over to inspect the aquarium.

There was a perch – well, really more of a tree branch – with a massive eagle perched on it. Angelo stared at the bird blankly before looking at the rest of the room.

Where draperies weren't hung, sketches and diagrams covered the walls. There was a desk against the east well, covered in stacks of paper. Two couches faced each other in the center of the room, separated by a handsome wood table. The bed was against the north wall, and was even larger than the one he and Apollo had shared on the Constellation. It was an ornate four-poster, made of oak and complete with curtains that appeared to be made of –

"Cloth-of-gold?" Angelo gasped, reaching over to stroke the fabric. "How much is this worth?"

Dionysus glanced up from where he was poking at the tortoise. "A lot," was the vague answer.

"I haven't been in here since you left," Ares said. "It doesn't look any different." He was standing in front of a diagram, his eyebrows furrowed. "What is this, exactly?"

Angelo moved to stand next to him. Despite the labels being written in Ancient Greek, he could easily tell what it was. "It's a diagram of the planets," he explained. "See? It shows their orbiting paths around the sun." Mathematical equations were scrawled on the sides of the poster, and Angelo found himself marveling at the fact that he himself had written these.

"Where did I learn all this stuff?" Angelo asked Apollon, who had joined them.

"You didn't learn anything," Apollon replied, gazing at a diagram of the lunar phases. "You invented it."

"You can't invent astronomy. It's a science."

"No, but you can invent all of these complicated equations," Dionysus piped up, pointing at a poster upon which the quadratic formula was scrawled.

Angelo ran a finger over the yellowing diagrams, feeling the indentions where his pen had pressed.

Ares was now shuffling through the papers on the desk. "Track-and-field—gymnastics—boxing…did you ever think about anything besides sports?" he asked brusquely.

" _Obviously_ he did," was Dionysus's scornful response. He had been examining a chart of the first Greek alphabet but was now rolling his eyes in Ares' direction.

There was silence for several moments, as Angelo grew familiar with his room and his companions continued to nose about.

"Alright," Apollon said some time later. Angelo started—he had been lost in reverie. "As much fun as this has been, I think we should probably show him around the rest of the palace."

"Good idea," Ares agreed, looking bored out of his mind.

So they left the room, Apollon leading the way.

The tour was extremely long. They stopped by the kitchens, where ambrosia and nectar were never in short supply, and by the stables, which were full of magnificent horses. Ares proudly showed him around the armory, where the weapons of the gods were stored. Apollon pointed out Hephaestus's workshop but opted not to enter it for the sake of his brothers. There was a small village, where non-Olympians resided, and sheds that housed chariots for each of the gods. They passed a small building from which loud barks could be heard, and at Angelo's questioning look, Apollon explained, "That's where Artemis keeps her dogs." There was even a zoo of sorts, full of the gods' sacred animals, and a wine cellar that Dionysus was immensely proud of.

By the time they were done, Angelo was exhausted. He let out a yawn, which didn't go unnoticed by Apollon. "It's been a long day," the blond agreed. "Why don't we –"

His voice trailed off.

Angelo glanced up to see what the problem was and then froze in his tracks.

Beauty incarnate was standing directly in front of him. His eyes were the color of the midnight sky; his hair was chestnut brown. His cheekbones and nose were perfectly sculpted. His face was a picture of innocence.

But the most amazing thing about him was the pearly white wings that were spread on either side of his body. The feathers seemed to flutter gently in a nonexistent breeze.

All Angelo wanted to do was hold him close, to kiss his perfect lips…

And then the stranger was speaking, and Angelo was sure that he had never heard such a beautiful sound. "I've been waiting for you, Hermes."

Apollon's sharp intake of breath snapped him out of his daze. "Get out of our way," the blond snapped. He was glowering at the stranger with what could only be described as hate. "Or better yet, get out of our palace."

Angelo glanced at him, confused, but before he could ask what was going on, the stranger spoke again. "It's really none of your business where I go, uncle. I live here, too." There was an amused glint in his eyes.

Angelo didn't need to look at Apollon to know that the blond was bristling and drawing himself up to his full height. Ares and Dionysus both stepped back warily, as though preparing for an explosion.

"You're wrong about that, nephew. I'm an Olympian. Before you let your power go to your head, remember that I am perfectly capable of casting you out of the heavens for the rest of eternity." Despite his agitated demeanor, Apollon's voice was as cold as ice.

"And before you threaten me, you should remember that I'm perfectly capable of making you fall in love with the next person you lay eyes on," the stranger retorted, clearly unfazed.

Apollon's mouth twisted into a snarl that looked quite out of place on his handsome features.

"That's enough, Eros!" Ares cut in. Though his voice was sharp, he still looked nervous.

Eros cast the war god a miffed look but nodded grudgingly. "I'll be waiting for you," he whispered into Angelo's ear before disappearing in a whirl of feathers.

The lack of his presence left Angelo feeling empty, cold, and confused. But before he had time to ask any questions, a loud voice chided, "You guys _really_ need to learn how to get along!"

The four gods turned around simultaneously. Ares muttered "Not this guy again" just as Apollon ground out, _"What are you doing here?"_

There was a small man standing mere feet away from the group. Angelo wasn't sure what to make of him; he looked out of place in the elegant beauty of Olympus. His hair was multicolored, with layers of black and red, and his clothes were too large for his slender body. He wore heavy eyeliner, which was overwhelmingly bold against his ghostly, pale skin. His pointed face was impish, and the malicious twinkle in his eyes was unnerving.

"You are a _Scandinavian_ god!" Apollon was seething. "We are _Greek_ gods! How did you get up here?!"

"Don't get your panties in a twist," the newcomer said, waving his hands around. "I've got permission! Your Muses sent me to get you."

"They aren't _my_ Muses," Apollon corrected. He couldn't possibly look more irked.

"Can somebody tell me who this is?" Angelo asked, irritated that no one was bothering to explain.

"His name is Loki," Dionysus answered. He was the only one who didn't seem displeased with the situation. "He's an idiot, but I love him anyway."

"Watch your mouth, pretty boy," Loki admonished, but small blooms of color had appeared on his cheekbones.

Angelo wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "Loki? As in the Norse god?"

"That's me," Loki affirmed, bowing dramatically.

Apollon wrinkled his nose at the display but didn't comment. "Tell the Muses I'll be there tomorrow," he snapped.

Loki looked disgruntled. "I'm not your messenger. Make him do it." He pointed a long finger at Angelo.

"I think not," Apollon said curtly.

To Angelo's surprise, Loki scowled at the blond but turned to go.

"I'll go with you," Dionysus volunteered, trotting after the strange god. Then Ares murmured something about going to bed, and Angelo and Apollon were left alone.

"Well, what do you think?" Apollon asked after several moments of silence.

Angelo, who was still trying to absorb everything that had just happened, grunted in response.

"Hermes, look at me," the blond said softly, reaching out a hand.

Angelo flinched away from his touch and then froze, realizing what he had just done.

Apollon was visibly stunned. Angelo opened his mouth, tried to speak, but when he saw the hurt that was filling the other god's eyes, the words died in his throat.

Apollon turned on his heel and hurried away.

Angelo found his voice. "Apollon, don't go!" he pleaded desperately.

The older god didn't listen. Angelo groaned to himself, burying his face in his hands. He hadn't been here a whole day and he'd already alienated his lover.

When he'd calmed down, Angelo looked up and tried to remember which direction his room was in. Before he could get his bearings, a voice whispered in his ear, "Do you need help?"

The god with the wings was back, looking more beautiful than before. Angelo nodded helplessly.

"The Olympian courtyard is that way," Eros said, pointing to the left. "I'll walk you there. Come on." He reached out and took Angelo's arm, pulling him along.

They had walked several feet before Angelo was able to speak again. "You're the god of love, aren't you?" he asked in a subdued voice.

"Yes."

Angelo gave a short laugh. "Well, you should be disappointed in me. I just managed to chase off the one person I ever loved."

"If he let you go, then perhaps he was undeserving of your love," Eros said quietly.

Angelo glanced sideways at him, but the other god was looking straight ahead, an unidentifiable expression on his face.

They arrived at Angelo's door seconds later. "Thanks for helping me," Angelo said, reaching out to twist the knob.

"You're quite welcome," Eros said sincerely.

Angelo opened his mouth, feeling like he should say something else, but he didn't get the chance.

As he watched, Eros disappeared with a single beat of his wings.


	7. The Chapter With No Name

When Angelo entered his room, he got a nasty shock. Loki was sprawled across one of the couches, looking perfectly comfortable.

"I've had enough drama for one day," Angelo snarled, slamming the door shut behind him and then putting a hand on his hip.

"I'm not here to start drama," Loki answered lazily, propping his feet up on the table. "I'm here to tell you that messing around with Eros is a bad idea. That kid's trouble."

"That's rich, coming from you," Angelo snorted.

"You just met me," Loki drawled, and then paused. "Well, sort of."

"So? I've heard plenty of stories about you, _Trickster._ "

"I'm no worse than you are," Loki said testily. "That's why we used to be best friends, which is why I'm trying to help you now."

"Apollon doesn't like you."

"He likes me better than Eros," Loki pointed out. "Listen, I'm not saying you should trust me. Actually, it's probably a good idea not to. But don't trust Eros either, okay? I know you don't remember me, but I care about you."

And then he was remembering.

_"Let's put this in his wine," Hermes giggled, holding up a small vial. It contained a powder made of aniseed, cyclamen, mandrake, mint, satirio, and stafylinos; combined, the herbs made a powerful aphrodisiac._

_"Brilliant," Loki breathed. He had taken a different form today; this time he was a young man with long auburn hair. "But I have an even better idea. Sneak into the kitchen and pour it into the wine bottle. That way all of them will drink it!"_

_Hermes laughed even harder. What would happen when his entire family consumed the drug?..._

"Did we really drug my family?" Angelo asked when the memory was over.

Loki grinned broadly. "You bet we did. That was one of the best nights of my life. It was like some sort of holy orgy."

Angelo's lips twitched, and suddenly he was smiling at the strange little man. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll try not to trust him." He wasn't making any promises, because there was something about the winged god that drew Angelo to him.

"As long as you don't trust him blindly," Loki muttered, and Angelo had the fleeting thought that the Norse god had read his mind. He didn't get the chance to ask, though, because Loki began to grin at him mischievously. "Are you up for a little midnight prank?"

"I'm tired," Angelo began to whine, but Loki's grin was contagious, and he suddenly found himself agreeing. "What did you have in mind?"

"Zeusie!" Loki shouted, throwing himself off the couch and leaping onto the table. He did a weird sort of dance, the jubilant smile never leaving his face.

"You're crazy!" Angelo laughed delightedly. Loki was beginning to remind him of Alex, who he sorely missed.

"It's been said before," Loki said, returning to the floor with catlike grace. "But normal people are so boring, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Angelo agreed. "Anyway, did you say that you want to prank my father?"

"Yes! I haven't gotten Zeusie in a long time," Loki said fervently. Then he cackled wickedly. "I've got the perfect idea!"

***

Zeus was fast asleep when they snuck into his bedroom. Angelo was surprised to see that Queen Hera was still nowhere to be found. He made a mental note to ask someone about that later.

"Come on," Loki said in a hushed tone, tip-toeing towards the bed. "Use your wand to make sure he doesn't wake up!"

"Use my _what?!_ "

"Your wand! The thingy with snakes and wings!"

"I don't have that with me!" Angelo whispered. "I don't even know where it _is!_ "

"Think about having it in your hands," Loki hissed at him, so Angelo did, concentrating hard on the caduceus he had seen in paintings of Hermes – well, of himself.

And suddenly, something appeared in his hands. He looked down to see the infamous golden wand. It was several feet long and extremely heavy. "No wonder I don't carry this thing around," he groaned, speaking louder than he had intended.

The king grunted in his sleep, startling both of the intruders.

"Quick!" Loki whispered frantically. "Use it! He'll kill us if he wakes up!"

_"I don't know what to do!"_

"Give me that!" Loki hissed, snatching the caduceus away from Angelo. He began to wave the wand over the sleeping king, strongly resembling a magician attempting to pull a bunny out of a hat.

Angelo struggled to hold in his laughter. "Is it working?"

"Yep. I can't hear his thoughts anymore."

Loki snapped his fingers, and the caduceus vanished. He snapped again, and suddenly he was holding a handful of permanent markers. The trickster flashed a grin at Angelo. "Let's get to work."

***

Angelo didn't sleep that night. The anticipation of tomorrow morning was too great. When he got out of bed, there were dark circles under his eyes. He didn't care.

Dionysus and Loki were waiting for him on the other side of his door—he nearly ran into them when he left the room.

"You look terrible," was Dionysus's greeting, and Angelo scowled at him before muttering something about rude brothers and not knocking.

Loki gave him a smirk but remained silent, and the trio made their way to the Great Hall.

The room was nearly empty when they arrived. Hestia, Poseidon, and Athena were the only ones present. Loki and Angelo exchanged glances before sitting down at the table. "I hope the rest of the family gets here before Zeus does," Angelo whispered into Loki's ear, watching the entrance with a worried expression. "It won't be as funny if no one's here to see it."

Loki grunted an agreement before stealing Angelo's goblet and taking a sip from it. Angelo didn't bother to rebuke him.

"You're up to something," Athena suddenly announced. Angelo started when he realized that she was eyeing him and Loki with suspicion.

Loki was unfazed, and his tone was mocking when he sneered, "Aren't you a clever one?"

"Leave her alone," Poseidon snapped. It seemed that everyone in the pantheon was protective of the goddess of wisdom.

Loki instantly sobered. Even for the trickster, Poseidon wasn't one to be reckoned with.

"You'll find out soon enough," Angelo assured his gray-eyed sister.

Several other gods trickled in while they waited. Ares took a seat next to Athena, and, to no one's amusement (or surprise), they began to argue almost instantly. Aphrodite glided in moments later and was pointedly ignored by both Dionysus and Ares. Demeter walked in, accompanied by her daughter, whom Angelo had met the previous day.

Persephone had barely taken her seat when the moment Loki and Angelo had been anticipating finally arrived.

"The king is coming!" the server-girl announced. The gods stood out of respect for their leader—unfortunately for Zeus, this was the only respect he would be shown for the entire day.

The king strode in as he did every morning and made his way to the head of the table.

Aphrodite was the first to let out a gasp of horror upon seeing Zeus's face.

Nobody said anything for a full minute. Zeus looked at each of his family members in turn, his brows knitted together in confusion, wondering why they were staring at him with their mouths agape.

Finally, Poseidon seemed to recover from his initial shock. "Is this supposed to be funny?" he demanded of his brother. "Are we supposed to be laughing? I didn't think you were serious when you said the pantheon was too grim; what has become of our family, when our leader lowers himself to common jokes? Go wash your face, brother. You look like a fool!"

That was more than Angelo and Loki had bargained for. The sight of Zeus's dumbstruck face was almost too much. So hard was it to hold in his laughter that the muscles in Angelo's stomach were beginning to throb.

"What are you talking about?" the king finally asked his brother. "What's wrong with my face?"

Silently, Aphrodite handed her father a small mirror. Zeus took it and peered at his reflection. What he saw made him squawk like an extremely indignant parrot.

His entire face was bright pink. "ZEUSIE!" had been written across his forehead in large, black letters. A mustache was drawn on his upper lip, and the very tip of his nose was bright red. His lips had been colored in by a green marker.

"What—how— _what_ —?!" Zeus stammered, and Angelo was sure that the king's face would have been bright red if it wasn't for all the pink.

"Looks like some sort of tropical bird of prey," Ares snorted into his breakfast.

Loki ducked under the table to hide his laughter.

Zeus was still staring at his reflection in horror when Apollon walked into the room five minutes later. He took one look at his father, shook his head, and sat down next to Angelo.

"Very funny," the blond muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Angelo grinned. "You're talking to me again?"

Apollon sighed as he helped himself to a piece of toast. "I couldn't stay mad at you for long, but I still think we need to talk about it."

"Not now," Angelo warned. Zeus had just run out of the room, and Loki, who had resurfaced, was watching them with open curiosity.

"Not now," Apollon agreed, munching on the bread and somehow managing to not spill any crumbs. Angelo was beginning to wonder if he used some sort of magical power to eat so neatly.

"So, what made you decide to humiliate our exalted leader on your first day back?" the blond then asked (after he had swallowed, of course).

Angelo jabbed his thumb in Loki's direction. "I think he has a crush on Dad."

"Oh, ew," Apollon groaned, setting down his toast. "I didn't need to know that."

Loki looked equally horrified. "What gave you _that_ idea?" Then he paused and his expression became thoughtful. "I do have a thing for blonds, though—and he _is_ hot. You look just like him, you know," he added to Apollon, who now looked slightly green.

Angelo snickered before saying "You'll never get him looking like that." He pointedly eyed Loki's less-than-perfect appearance.

Loki glanced down at himself. "Yeah, you're probably right."

He began to morph before their very eyes. His hair changed colors and grew down to the middle of his back. His eyes became bright blue. His skin darkened and his body lengthened. He actually looked Nordic.

"Better?" the Norse god asked Angelo. His voice hadn't changed.

"Hm…no," Angelo decided, shaking his head. "Try again."

Loki sighed but began to change once more. This time his hair became shorter and turned dark blond. His eyes were a shade of green similar to Angelo's. His nose lengthened slightly. His body became thinner and several inches shorter. "How about now?" he asked.

"I think that'll work," Angelo said.

Then Ares caught sight of Loki's new form and let out a loud wolf-whistle. "Whoa, Loki! _Thelo tin panemorfi ksanthia,_ " he said with a wink.

Angelo let out a bark of laughter. Next to him, Apollon was choking on his toast.

Loki shot a half-hearted scowl at Ares. "First of all, I'm not a girl. Second of all...name the time and place." And much to Angelo's amusement, Loki returned the wink.

Ares looked dumbstruck—whether it was because Loki had understood his Greek or because of what he'd said, Angelo was unsure.

When Apollon managed to get the last of the toast out of his trachea, Angelo leaned towards him and grinned impishly. _"Ke thelo apla panemorfi ksanthia mou,"_ the brunette crooned.

Apollon looked disgusted. "Leave me out of this!"

"You're such a party pooper," Angelo said with a huff.

Ares burst out laughing and high-fived Angelo and Loki.

Apollon twitched and stood up, grabbing his younger lover by the arm. "Come on," he ordered. "We have places to be, people to meet, and all that stuff."

_"'All that stuff'?"_ Angelo quoted, obediently climbing to his feet. "Aren't you supposed to be well-spoken?"

Apollon ignored him and held out a hand. "Let's go."

Angelo sighed dramatically, bid Loki and his brother good-bye, and took the offered hand.

They disappeared with a flash of light.

***

"Apollon!" several voices shouted.

Angelo opened his eyes and was met with the sight of a large group of women. He immediately decided that it was going to be a long day.

"Clio! Erato!" Apollon was saying delightedly. Then the blond frowned. "Melpomene? Why do you look so sad? What is it this time?"

"Don't bother with her," another woman sang, quite literally dancing up to the two gods. "You know how she is. Here, take this!" She shoved what appeared to be a small harp into Apollon's arms. His eyes lit up.

Angelo leaned forward to get a better look at the instrument. This, he knew, must be Apollon's infamous lyre.

"Thank you, Terpsichore," he breathed. "I knew I could count on you to keep it safe."

"Well, I have one just like it," Terpsichore laughed, holding up an identical lyre.

"Since no one's bothered to introduce me, I'm assuming these are the Muses?" Angelo spoke up.

"You assumed correctly," Apollon said with a smile. "But the Charites and two of the Horae are also present. Girls, you already know Hermes."

"Indeed we do," one of the women answered quietly. Her face was hidden by a veil. When Angelo looked at Apollon questioningly, the blond murmured into his ear, "That's Polyhymnia. She's very modest. Oh, and that," he waved his hand at another Muse, "is Thalia. You'll like her. She loves jokes."

Angelo beamed at her, and she grinned in return.

"Let's play something!" another Muse said impatiently. She was holding a flute.

"Patience, Euterpe," Apollon laughed. "What shall we play?"

"Your song!" Erato said immediately. Her eyes flickered over to Angelo.

"Alright," Apollon agreed. Angelo watched as the blond settled himself on a tree trunk. He set the lyre on his lap, holding it close to his chest. Then he rested his chin on the crossbar and strummed the strings experimentally.

Then they began to play, and it was by far the most beautiful music Angelo had ever heard. There were flutes, and violins, and a glockenspiel that had appeared out of thin air. One played a lute, others danced, and four sang in harmonic overtones. The lyres were an elegant undertone. Angelo watched Apollon's fingers dance across the strings, watched his eyes flutter shut as he began to sing with his friends. His heart swelled with admiration for his talented lover.

"That was beautiful," Angelo croaked when the music died away. "You should consider playing concerts in public."

Apollon's teeth flashed in the sunlight as he smiled. "It's an idea. But you really liked it?" He sounded like a child hoping to win the approval of his parents.

Angelo walked over to where the blond was sitting and wrapped him in a hug. "Yes," he whispered into the golden hair. "I _really_ liked it."

Apollon pulled the brunette into his lap. Angelo blushed, hyperaware that the women were still watching them, but when Apollon buried his face in Angelo's neck, younger god sighed with content; he not longer cared that they still had an audience.

"I love you," Angelo said softly.

***

Later that afternoon, Angelo decided to take a walk around Mount Olympus. He wanted to get to know the place that would become his second home. _Maybe I'll go see Hephaestus's workshop,_ he thought to himself. It was one of the places he hadn't been able to see during the guided tour.

Fate, however, had other things in mind.

As he began to walk in the general direction of the workshop, he heard the sound of feet pounding against the marble walkway. Angelo whirled around in the direction of the noise and squawked as Loki seemed to come out of nowhere. The Norse god was sprinting so fast that he was almost a blur. _"Loki!"_ he cried out, leaping aside to avoid being run over. "What are you doing?!"

Loki slowed down just enough to grab Angelo by the wrist, but then he was off again, forcing his Greek friend to sprint alongside him. Angelo could hear him gasping for breath and laughing all at once.

"Why are you running?!" Angelo managed to shout as he stumbled along—it was difficult to run properly when one of his arms was caught in Loki's iron grip.

"No time to explain!"

They were headed directly towards the stables. Several horses were grazing in the paddocks, and they lifted their heads to examine the two runaway gods. "This way!" Loki yelled, leaping over the paddock fence. Against his better judgment, Angelo followed. His breath was coming in short, measured bursts.

The Norse god vaulted onto the back of the nearest horse – a massive white stallion that stood taller than Angelo. Loki held his hand out to the Greek god, and Angelo clamored up behind him. The horse turned his head, looking at his two new riders with an expression that looked suspiciously disdainful.

"There's no saddle," Angelo squeaked.

"Who needs a saddle?" Loki snorted just before kicking the horse's flanks with his heels. _"Yah!"_

The horse leapt forward. Angelo let out a startled yelp, grabbing Loki around the waist and holding on for dear life.

The horse jumped neatly over the fence and galloped down the marble walkways of Mount Olympus. They went right past a very startled-looking Artemis. Angelo squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whoever happened to be listening.

When Angelo next opened his eyes, he immediately wished he hadn't. They appeared to be galloping through the clouds. When Angelo glanced down, he saw that the horse was running on absolutely nothing. Thin air was the only thing separating them from the ground far below. Angelo let out a small squeak and closed his eyes again, latching onto Loki tighter and burying his face in his friend's shirt.

Then it stopped.

Angelo opened one eye and looked around cautiously. They were in a clearing, surrounded by trees. There was a babbling brook nearby. When he looked forward, he saw that Loki was grinning at him over his shoulder. "You can let go of me now. I'm pretty sure you cracked a few of my ribs."

So Angelo released him, muttering darkly under his breath. "You're the one who pulled me into this."

"Oh, come on!" Loki protested, laughing. He slid off the horse and then helped Angelo down. "You have to admit that was fun."

"Which part?" Angelo demanded, crossing his arms. "You almost running me over or the ride on the ridiculous floating horse?"

The horse snorted and stomped his hoof as though he'd understood the words.

Angelo rolled his eyes at the animal before turning his angry face back to Loki. "Are you ever going to tell me why you were running around like a lunatic?"

"I was wondering about that, too," a new voice said. Angelo and Loki turned to see Apollon entering the clearing astride a horse identical to the one that they had stolen. He didn't look amused.

Loki groaned. "How did you find us?"

"It was my horse you stole," Apollon responded, shooting the Norse god a disgruntled look. "Smooth getaway, might I add." He reached over to pat the stolen horse. "Pray tell, what did you do this time?"

"I put itching powder in Poseidon's clothes." Loki made a show of looking properly ashamed, but the malicious glint in his eyes gave him away.

Angelo let out a horrified squeak. "You _didn't!_ "

"I did!" Loki cackled.

Apollon's lips twitched and Angelo could tell that he was fighting back a smile. "I would avoid all large bodies of water for the next several days, if I were you," the blond warned.

Loki eyed the creek warily, and Angelo snickered.

"Does Zeus know that you were the mastermind behind the face-drawing intrigue?"

"I'm sure he suspects it, but he can't prove anything. We managed to keep that a secret," Loki smirked, gesturing between himself and Angelo.

Apollon's eyes landed on Angelo, and the brunette froze under the piercing gaze. He knew what Apollon was going to say even before the words fell from his lips.

"That's not the only secret you've been keeping."

Loki looked back and forth between the two Greeks. He opened his mouth to question Apollon's vague words, but the older god cut him off before he could speak. "Go away, Loki."

The Norse god was outraged. He opened his mouth once more.

"Don't argue with me," Apollon snapped.

"I didn't say anything!"

"No, but you were going to."

Loki opened and closed his mouth several times, but Apollon's glare told him that arguing wouldn't be worth the effort. So he settled on shooting a fiery look at the blond before swinging onto the back of the stolen horse. He took off into the woods, muttering loudly about the impudence of Greek gods.

"He'd better take good care of Abraxas," Apollon said darkly.

Angelo blinked at him. "Who?"

"Abraxas. The horse you stole. The other is Therbeeo."

" _I_ didn't steal it," Angelo contradicted, ignoring the last part.

Apollon waved his hand. "That's not what I wanted to talk about."

Angelo crossed his arms and waited.

"I want to know why you did what you did," Apollon said. His delicate eyebrows were furrowed.

"But why?" Angelo said, lowering his arms. "Why do you need to know? Why do you want an answer that can only hurt you in the end?"

Apollon seemed to pale at those words. He took a deep breath. "Why would the answer hurt me?"

Angelo ran his last sentence through his mind and realized how it must have sounded. "I didn't mean it like that," he said hastily. _Damn. Isn't Hermes supposed to be the lord of communication?_

Apollon's lips tightened. "Then what did you mean?"

"I meant that you wouldn't be happy with any answer I give you."

"That doesn't matter," Apollon said impatiently. "Choose an answer."

"I don't want to hurt you!" He gazed up at the taller god with a silent plea in his emerald eyes. _Let it go,_ he thought desperately.

Apollon's eyes narrowed. His expression was unyielding. "I've spent thousands of years being hurt time and time again," Apollon said coolly. "I should be used to it by now."

"But that doesn't mean you are," Angelo argued before sighing in defeat. "I was confused about something, okay? It's not a big deal."

"'Confused'," Apollon echoed. "Confused about your feelings towards me?"

Angelo was shocked. "No! Of course not."

"Confused about my feelings towards you?"

Angelo couldn't bring himself to answer.

Apollon pressed on. "Confused about your feelings towards another?"

Angelo flinched. He couldn't help it.

Apollon inhaled sharply. "Feelings towards another," he breathed. "I can't believe this."

Angelo looked down at his feet. He was shocked when he heard Apollon begin to laugh. There was no mirth in the sound. It was empty. Hollow.

"We've been together all of seven days, and already we're at odds."

"We never said we were 'together'," Angelo muttered, still staring at the ground.

"And maybe it's better that we stay that way," Apollon snapped.

Angelo's head jerked up. "Are you breaking up with me?" he demanded.

"If we were never together, then there isn't a relationship to break up," Apollon retorted in clipped tones. His eyes were spitting blue fire. "If we can't make it a week without something like this happening, then I think it's better that we stay friends."

"If you don't know how to resolve a simple argument, then I don't think I want to be your friend!" Angelo said angrily.

"Having feelings for someone else isn't a simple argument." It was unnerving how his voice managed to sound so icy.

"I don't have feelings for him!" Angelo shouted. "I don't even know him! I don't know _what_ happened!"

Apollon froze. His hands curled into fists at his sides. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. " _Eros?_ You have feelings for _Eros?!_ "

"How—" Angelo began to sputter, but he was cut off by a velvety voice.

"Did someone call?"

Angelo and Apollon both whirled around to see Eros leaning against a tree, looking like he'd been there the whole time. His wings were folded behind his body, and his hair fluttered in the slight breeze.

_"You!"_ Apollon spat. He sounded very much like an angry cat. He stormed over to where Eros was leaning and had ahold of the winged god's collar faster than either of them could blink. "When I'm through with you," he hissed, rage smoldering in his eyes, "they'll be sweeping bits and pieces of you off the streets from here all the way to _New Zealand!_ "

"So hateful," Eros chided, prying Apollon's fingers off his shirt and stepping away.

"It's no more than you deserve," Apollon threw at his back.

"Is that so?" And suddenly, Eros was whirling around with a bow in his hands. The weapon was fitted with a dark arrow.

Angelo let out a gasp of horror. _"Eros, don't!"_ he cried out.

It was too late. He could hear the sound of the arrow being released, the whoosh of air as it soared towards Apollon…

"Too slow!" a cheerful voice declared.

Angelo blinked.

Loki was standing directly in front of Apollon, twirling the arrow between his fingers. Although his voice had sounded as upbeat as ever, he was glaring at Eros with undisguised hate. "No one messes with Blondie but me. Now do everyone a favor and get out of here."

Eros looked shaken for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "I'm sorry," he said with a sneer. "If you're not my king, you can't tell me what to do."

"You're right," Zeus's voice said. "That's my job."

The king was standing mere inches away from Eros. Even though his face was still bright pink, it was clear that he was absolutely enraged. The air crackled with electricity. Sparks were flying from the tips of his fingers. "What have I told you," Zeus said in a dangerous voice, "about using those arrows on family members?"

"Not to," Eros mumbled. "I'm sorry, Father Zeus."

"It's alright," Zeus said, sarcasm dripping from the words. "I'm sure Hera will be more than glad to have your company."

Eros's eyes widened. "No –"

Zeus didn't give him a chance to finish his plea. "I hope this will teach you to stay away from my children," he snarled. To Angelo's shock, a bolt of lightning flashed down from the sky and struck the winged god. A scream rent the air.

When the flash of light cleared, Eros was gone.

"Whoa," Loki breathed. "That was cool."

Zeus turned to face the Norse god. "As for you..." he growled.

Loki gulped.

Then, to everyone's surprise, the king's expression softened. "I'm willing to forget about this," he said, pointing to his pink face, "in exchange for having protected my son."

Loki grinned and lifted up a hand. He snapped his fingers and the king's face was returned to normal.

He then produced a mirror from thin air and handed it to Zeus. "Better?"

"Much," Zeus said approvingly. "Thank you. Now, I believe we should return home. Apollon, where are your horses? Ah, there they are..."

He vaulted onto Abraxas's back.

Loki, Apollon, and Angelo stared at each other for several seconds. It was obvious that Loki had (accidentally on purpose) overheard their argument. By silent agreement, Loki climbed onto Therbeeo's back, and Angelo climbed up behind him. Apollon took a seat behind his father.

"You were eavesdropping on us, weren't you?" Angelo murmured into Loki's ear as the horse broke into a trot.

Loki snorted and flicked a strand of hair out of his face. "I wouldn't call it eavesdropping. You were yelling so loud they could probably hear you all the way in Hong Kong."

Angelo sighed and unconsciously tightened his grip on Loki's waist. "Yeah. I think we broke up."

"Don't worry about it," Loki said carelessly. "Back in the day, you guys had fights like this at least once a week."

"Sounds like a healthy relationship."

Loki craned his head around and shot a grin at Angelo. "You're Olympians. Your family doesn't exactly do healthy relationships."

Angelo muttered an agreement and then glanced over to where his father and lover—ex-lover?—were trotting alongside them. _Loki's right. They do look a lot alike,_ Angelo thought to himself. They appeared to be having a quiet discussion.

"Oh," Angelo said suddenly. "I've been meaning to ask someone about this. What happened to Hera?"

The smirk that made its way onto Loki's face was rather sadistic. "The queenie? Zeus strung her up from the sky after she threw you off the mountain."

Angelo gasped. _"What?!"_

He had spoken louder than intended. Zeus and Apollo both looked over, their golden eyebrows raised.

Angelo lowered his voice. "Why would he do that?"

"This might be news to you, but parents aren't usually happy when people throw their children around. Besides, this isn't the first time he's done it."

"Oh, then that makes it all better," Angelo said sarcastically. "So she's been dangling from the sky for nineteen years?"

Loki shrugged. "I guess so."

"That's horrible."

"Eh. She's not a very nice person."

"Then why did he marry her?"

Loki laughed. "You got me. We're here!"

His words startled Angelo, and the brunette quickly looked at their surroundings. They had indeed arrived at Mount Olympus. "Wow. The floating horse isn't so bad when I'm distracted."

He slid to the ground and then turned to pat Therbeeo on the nose. He smiled when the horse nuzzled his face.

When he turned back around, he saw that Apollon was walking away, leading Abraxas towards the stables. "Apollon, wait!" he called out.

The blond turned around.

"I wanted to ask you something. When were you planning on taking me home?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Angelo saw that Loki had stopped to listen to their conversation.

"This _is_ your home," Apollon responded curtly.

And with those words, Angelo was able to put two and two together. "You were never planning on taking me back!" he exclaimed. He was too stunned to be angry.

Apollon didn't answer, and Angelo took his silence as a 'yes'.

"You can't keep me here! I have a home, Apollon. I have a job. I have friends!"

Zeus, who had also paused to listen, shifted slightly at the last sentence. In the back of his mind, Angelo wondered why.

Nobody said anything, so Angelo went on with his rant. "Surely you don't all stay here twenty-four seven! You must have homes down there!" He pointed downwards to encompass the earth below. "And I _know_ you have a job, Apollon! You have to have lives outside of this!" He gestured around wildly.

"Of course we do, son," Zeus said quietly, "but this is our true home. Our duties as gods are our priority. As messenger, you will always be responsible for aiding mankind when they need you the most, for keeping our family connected, and for guiding lost souls to the Underworld. Speaking of which…" He dug through the pockets of the robes he was wearing to retrieve a thick envelope. "I need you to take this to Hades and Persephone. There are messages in there for both of them."

Dazedly, Angelo accepted the envelope. He had forgotten about the duties that would be expected of him as the newly-returned messenger.

Zeus turned to leave.

"So when can I leave?" Angelo called after him.

Zeus smiled at him over his shoulder. "Whenever you want. You're millennia old. You can make your own decisions – for the most part." Then he walked out of sight.


	8. Herald's Duties

Angelo noticed that Apollon had also left.

He turned to face Loki. "I have no idea how to get to the Underworld," he admitted, slightly embarrassed.

Loki grinned. "No problem. I'll help you."

Angelo stared at him. "How do _you_ know how to get in?"

"We Norse gods have a similar place. It's called Helheim. My daughter rules over it." Loki's grin widened. "Maybe I'll give you a lesson in Norse Mythology later on. Who better to learn from than a Norse god?" He winked.

Angelo laughed. "You aren't the ideal Norse god," he teased. "I think I'd rather learn from Odin."

Loki snorted and shook his head; his chin-length blond hair flew in every which direction. "Screw Odin. My son's going to eat him when the world ends, you know."

Angelo blinked at him. "...I don't even have a comment for that. Subject change! How are we getting to the Underworld?"

Loki brightened. "Right! Well, first of all, you're going to need those things you use to fly. Concentrate on them like you did with the winged snakey thingy."

Angelo obeyed, closing his eyes tightly and thinking about the winged band and winged sandals. After a few seconds, he felt a weight settle on his head. He reached up and felt the gold band that was nearly lost in his mop of hair. Glancing down, he saw that his shoes had been replaced with the golden sandals. The caduceus had also unwittingly appeared in his hands.

Angelo grinned widely. "How do I look?" he asked Loki, spinning around in a circle.

"Very Greek," Loki said with a smirk. "The gold goes great with your t-shirt and shorts."

Angelo laughed and bounded over to a nearby fountain, eager to see a glimpse of himself in his messenger garb. Peering at his reflection in the water, he saw an elfish face staring back at him with a smile that almost looked sly. Even in the blurry reflection, his eyes were bright green. The messenger reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead, revealing his eyebrows. The insides were turned downwards, pointing towards the bridge of his nose, and the outsides pointed towards his temples. It made him look all the more impish, and Angelo snorted at the sight. Somehow, the winged band completed the image.

"Angelo, let's go!" Loki said, sounding impatient.

Angelo turned to face his friend, and his smile grew wider. "I'm not Angelo, Loki. My name is Hermes."

Loki grinned back at him and the two began to walk out of the courtyard. They had just reached the front of the palace when Hermes felt something move in his hand. The brunette glanced down and then let out a cry of horror.

The caduceus clattered to the ground and Hermes stared at it, completely dumbstruck. The two snakes were _moving._

**"Peace to you, Master."**

Hermes squawked and jumped backwards. "Did you hear that?!" he demanded of Loki.

"Of course I did," Loki replied, giving Hermes a strange look. "Those damn things have always hated me. Aren't you going to answer it?"

Hermes looked down at the caduceus and saw that one of the snakes was staring up at him with beady eyes. He stared back at it. "Um...hello?" he said, feeling rather stupid.

**"I'm pleased that you have returned to the heavens, Master."**

The other snake let out a hiss that sounded angry. Hermes supposed that it was probably unhappy about having been dropped on the ground.

He gave it a nervous look before looking back at the snake that had spoken. "Thanks, I guess." He leaned down and gingerly picked up the caduceus.

Loki was tapping his foot impatiently. "If you're quite done playing with your wand, we have places to go," he drawled. Then he grinned. "Is it just me, or did that sound naughty?"

"Shut up!" Hermes said, swinging the wand at him playfully. Loki yelped and darted out of the way as both of the snakes expressed their displeasure at their master's antics.

When Hermes was done, Loki latched onto him, wrapping an arm around his friend's waist. "Alright, let's go," he said cheerfully.

"Um…what am I supposed to be doing?"

Loki sighed and dragged him to the edge of the marble walkway. Greece was visible far below. Hermes peered down, watching the people go about their business.

He was just about to point something out to Loki when, without warning, the Norse god jumped over the edge, dragging the messenger with him.

Hermes shrieked so loud that it felt like his throat was ripping open. Dying had _not_ been the way that he'd planned on getting to the Underworld. He could still feel Loki's arm around his waist and blindly reached out for his friend. They could die together.

And then he remembered that he was a god; death wasn't something he had to worry about.

And then he wondered why he seemed to be stationary when he should have been tumbling towards the ground at breakneck speed.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes.

They were, quite literally, floating in midair. His wings were beating of their own accord, supporting both his weight and Loki's with ease.

Loki was grinning at him with dazzling white teeth. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," Hermes managed to choke out. Adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, and he was trembling slightly. "What do we do now?"

Loki tightened his grip around Hermes' waist and used his other hand to point at something in the distance. "Do you see that river over there?"

Hermes squinted. Barely visible on the horizon was a thin strip of water sparkling beneath the sunlight. "Yes."

"That's the River Acheron. Head towards that," Loki ordered.

Hermes opened his mouth, prepared to inform his friend that he had no idea how to work the wings, but the instant he thought about flying towards the river, the pair hurled forward as though they'd been shot out of a cannon.

Now it was Loki's turn to panic. "Slow down!" he screamed, clinging to Hermes for dear life.

_"I don't know how!"_

"You're going to kill us!" the Norse god howled. He couldn't have possibly sounded any more hysterical. Hermes would have found it funny in any other situation.

And suddenly, with no warning, they fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap. The sound of running water flooded the messenger's ears. He attempted to sit up but found himself unable to move. Somehow during the flight Loki had managed to wrap both his arms and legs around the brunette. Hermes was trapped in his friend's iron grip.

He wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed.

"Loki," he ventured, trying to keep his voice even. "You can let go now."

Loki peeked up from where he'd had his face buried in Hermes' shirt. "Are we alive?"

Hermes snorted. "We're gods. We _can't_ die. Now get off me." He shoved the blond aside.

"Maybe _you_ can't," Loki huffed, jumping to his feet and brushing himself off. "Not all of us are so lucky."

Hermes climbed to his feet as well, but kept his eyes glued to his friend. His expression was one of confusion. "You mean – you're not immortal?"

"Not in the normal sense, no." His voice was quiet. Hermes had never seen him look so serious. "I will never die of old age or sickness, but I can – and will be – killed."

Before Hermes could ask him to elaborate, the Norse god turned in the direction of the river. Grudgingly, Hermes followed suit.

A gasp escaped his throat at the sight that met his eyes.

A dark figure was standing on the grassy bank of the river. His body was cloaked from head to toe. There was no face visible beneath his hood; all that could be seen was a black hole. One hand was grasping an oar, and the other was resting on the stern of a boat.

It took Hermes a mere second to realize who this person must be, and when he did, he sucked in a sharp breath. "Charon...the boatman," he breathed.

"I can't come any further," Loki said softly.

Hermes ripped his eyes away from Charon. He was taken aback. "Why?"

"You're the only living being allowed passage. If I went with you, I wouldn't be allowed to return. And even if I _was_ allowed, I don't have anything to pay him with," Loki said with a wry smile, patting his empty pockets.

Perhaps the Norse god sensed that Hermes wasn't comforted because he offered the messenger a rare, sincere smile. "Don't worry, Hermes. You'll be fine. You've been here thousands of times before, remember?"

"No, actually," Hermes said with a scowl. "I _don't_ remember."

He looked at the boatman with apprehension, and then, to his great surprise, Loki stepped forward and planted a swift kiss on the brunette's forehead. "You'll be fine," the Norse god repeated, his lips moving against Hermes' skin. Then he stepped back, making a shooing motion with his hands. "Go on!"

So Hermes went, taking slow steps towards the ferryman. Although his eyes weren't visible, the messenger had the feeling that the cloaked man was watching him.

The boatman stepped aside when Hermes finally reached the water's edge, allowing the god access to the boat. The messenger stepped inside, one cautious foot at a time, and took a seat in the stern. He twisted around to look at Loki one last time. His Norse friend was standing with his hands clasped behind his back. His blond tresses were flying wildly about his face and Hermes shivered, just then becoming aware of the breeze.

He turned back around when the boat began to move.

Both of the boatman's hands were now visible, wielding the oar with practiced ease. Hermes shivered harder when he saw that the skin covering the appendages were a disturbing cross between blue and gray, although not skeletal like he had imagined.

Neither of them spoke as the boat moved forward. The landscape was fast becoming dreary and the river murky. The only thing to be heard was the sound of the oar moving through the water. Not even the noises of animals penetrated the silence as fog moved over the surface of the river. Soon, Hermes was unable to see land in either direction.

That was when he began to hear the whispers.

The voices seemed to come from every direction, murmuring, sighing and hissing.

"What's happening?" Hermes asked, trying and failing to keep the quiver out of his voice.

"We've crossed into the land of the dead." His voice was low, and if Hermes hadn't been sitting so close, he might have mistaken it for one of the whispers. "The voices you hear belong to the departed souls. They know you don't belong here. You are beautiful to them because you are still breathing. The bloom has not yet left your cheeks, nor has the air left your lungs. They envy you."

"Do you think they could envy me a little less noisily?" The whispers were unnerving.

The boatman didn't answer.

Hermes was relieved when he spotted the bank on the other side of the river. Relieved, that was, until he saw what was patrolling the shore.

A three-headed dog, easily the size of a car, was pacing up and down the riverbank. Its lips were pulled back from its teeth, and even from a distance, Hermes could see that its eyes glowed red.

He didn't move when the boat pulled up to the shore, and the boatman turned to face him. Seeing that his passenger was staring at the hound with fear written across his face, the cloaked man gave a quiet laugh. "Don't be afraid of Cerberus. He allows all to enter."

"And what about the ones who want to leave?" Hermes asked, his voice a notch higher than usual.

"You have permission to leave," the ferryman pointed out. He must have sensed that Hermes wasn't comforted, because he sighed and laid down his oar. "I'll walk with you a ways. Come."

The cloaked man stepped onto the shore, and Hermes followed suit. The hound ignored them. They began to walk down a path that had been worn into the grass. Gazing around, Hermes saw that they were in a field. He could see many people – men, women, and children. Some stood in groups, others stood alone. They passed one child who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, plucking at the grass with a vacant expression upon her face. Then Hermes' eyes settled on his cloaked companion, and the green-eyed god frowned. "Not being able to see your face really bothers me."

The man turned to face him, and Hermes stared into the dark hole of his hood. And then, to the messenger's surprise, the boatman lifted one of his small hands and pushed back the hood.

_He looks like Hades,_ was Hermes' first thought. There was one big difference, though, and that was the eyes. Where Hades' eyes were like onyx, the boatman's were a fierce gray. He had alabaster skin that seemed to have no pigment at all. In fact, it was nearly grey. His lips were colorless, almost blending in with his skin. His cheeks were hallow. His hair was straight and black.

Hermes realized he was gaping, and quickly closed his mouth. "That's better," he heard himself say. "Why do you wear that thing, anyway?" He pointed at the hood.

"I don't want the dead to put a face to the person who ferries them to their fate." His tone was dry. "Follow me."

Hermes matched his brisk pace. They walked a long way before the boatman finally came to a halt. Hermes saw that they had come to a fork in the path. "Er, which way do we go?" he asked, looking first in one direction and then the other.

"You ask a good question, radiant messenger," a deep voice said. Startled, Hermes whirled around and found himself face-to-face with a handsome man. He was wrapped in an emerald-green robe, and his brown hair hung about his face in waves. His eyes were the color of gold. Such beauty was only possible for the divine, Hermes knew. This must be a god.

"But let me ask you a question now," the stranger continued. "Have you committed a sin so great that you deserve to be cast into the earth's deepest pit, into an abyss so vast that no light can permeate the darkness, in the gloom of which you will forever be haunted by your worst fears and taunted with your deepest secrets?"

Hermes' mouth hung open for several seconds while those words sunk in. When they finally did, he responded, "No, I don't think so."

The stranger smiled. "Then I wouldn't suggest going that way." He pointed to the left. "Take the path to the right and you'll eventually find the palace. Do not speak to any of the dead. They will try to draw you in."

Hermes nodded, and the stranger bowed slightly. "It was a pleasure to see you again, Radiant One. My name is Aeacus. Call for me if you're in need of aid."

"And I'll see you the next time you visit the realm of the dead," the boatman added. "My name is Charon, by the way."

"Thanks for helping me, Charon," Hermes said with a small smile.

The boatman dipped his head and then turned to leave. His cloak billowed out behind him in an impressive manner. Hermes watched him walk down the path until he disappeared from sight. When he turned back around, he saw that Aeacus, too, had vanished. He sighed and turned to face the path that would lead him to his uncle's palace. Then an idea struck him. _How much easier would it be,_ he thought, _to fly there?_ He reached up to touch his wings. There was only one problem: He still didn't know how to use them. _Should've had someone give me lessons._ He thought of Hephaestus, who had crafted the winged apparatuses and would surely know how to control them. _Maybe he has an instruction manual._ The thought made Hermes snort with laughter, but he calmed himself after a few seconds, knowing that this situation required objective thinking. The wings seemed to react when he focused on a certain destination. Sure enough, he found himself being lifted into the air the second he focused on Hades' palace. For the second time that day, he was being propelled forward at an eye watering speed. This time the trip lasted less than thirty seconds; soon he landed in a very uncouth manner in front of an imposing castle. The front gates were wide open. Trying to keep his nerves at bay, Hermes climbed to his feet and stepped inside.

The inner part of the palace was not as intimidating as the outside. The entrance hall was aglow with the light of flickering olive oil lamps, and the light scent of cinnamon wafted through the air. There were flowers in every corner of the room. Hermes briefly wondered if Hades had a green thumb. The thought made a smile creep onto his face.

"Are you looking for Hades?" a feminine voice asked. Hermes started when he saw the girl standing a mere foot away from him. He hadn't heard her approach.

"Yes I am," he affirmed as he appraised her. There was a very mysterious aura about this woman. Her eyes were pale blue and her windblown hair was jet-black. Her skin was luminous and very pale, but not sickly like Charon's. She wore a black dress that stopped just above her knees to reveal hunting boots and in her right hand she held a torch. Her eye makeup was very ornate; the liner extended beyond her eyes and succeeded in making her look even more mystifying.

"You're looking at me as though I have three heads," she said, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a tiny smile.

Hermes found it a very odd thing to say and opened his mouth to say so, but then realization dawned on him. His eyes widened as he realized that he was standing in the presence of one of the most respected Greek goddesses. "You're Hecate, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am," she agreed. "And you're Hermes. It's been a long time." Before he got a chance to answer, she turned on her heel and gestured for him to follow. He obeyed, trotting along after her.

She led him through several hallways before finally gliding through an open doorway. Hermes followed her and found himself standing in a small but cozy room. There was a blazing fire in the hearth, and the crackling of the flames was a merry sound. Directly in front of the fireplace, perched on a pile of cushions and blankets, was a very pretty girl whom Hermes assumed was Persephone. Her copper hair was done in braids and she wore a crown of flowers. Hades sat at a nearby desk, scrawling away on a sheet of paper. His inky black hair flowed freely about his face. A thin silver band adorned his head. Hermes began to walk towards him, and Hecate moved to sit next to Persephone.

Hermes stopped in front of the desk. "Er, hi."

Hades glanced up with his hard onyx eyes, and Hermes had the fleeting thought that his dour uncle was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. "Yes?" he asked in a no-nonsense tone.

Hermes fought back the urge to gulp and dug out the messages that Zeus had given him. He had folded the envelope in half to make it fit in his pocket, and consequently the paper was wrinkled and creased. He held it out.

Hades stared at the envelope for several seconds before raising his eyes to his nephew. One of his eyebrows was cocked. "And what, exactly, is _that?_ "

"They're called _letters,_ Uncle." His eyes widened as soon as the sarcastic words left his mouth. Of all the gods he could have mouthed off to, he had to pick the one that was most likely to send him packing off to Tartarus.

The room became dead silent, and Hermes tensed, preparing for what he assumed was an inevitable attack – and then the unthinkable happened.

Hades smiled.

"I've actually missed your insolent remarks," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. There was an amused glint in his dark eyes. And then Hermes was remembering…

_He was sitting on a cliff with his legs dangling over the jagged edge. Hades was towering over him. The older god wore a black chiton, and an indigo chlamys was entwined around his waist and through his arms. The fabric fluttered in the breeze._

_"I thought you hated me," Hermes mumbled. Although he wasn't looking at his uncle, he could almost hear the other man scowl._

_"Of course I don't hate you, idiot boy," Hades said, sounding impatient. "As usual, your intuition leaves something to be desired."_

_Hermes shot a glare over his shoulder but said nothing. Hades sighed at the stubbornness of the young god but took a seat next to him. "Why would you think I hate you?"_

_Although his uncle's tone was harried, as though he didn't approve of conversing with the messenger (or anyone, for that matter), Hermes decided to take a chance. "If it weren't for me, you'd have Persephone with you year-round."_

_Hades let out a short laugh. "I thought you were supposed to be smart. That particular spat had nothing to do with you. You insult my intelligence by thinking that I would blame you for something my brother is at fault for. You were merely his errand boy."_

_"You aren't exactly the nicest god in the pantheon," Hermes mumbled, still refusing to meet his companion's eyes. "How was I supposed to know you'd be reasonable about the situation?"_

_The annoyance crept back into his uncle's voice. "I might not be as sappy as you or as merciful as my brother, but neither am I unjust. I lay blame where it is due. You have been my messenger for centuries and still you fail to see that?"_

_"You hardly ever talk to me," Hermes snapped, straightening up inside his chlamys and looking Hades right in the eye. "I may be intelligent but I'm not a mind-reader. How am I supposed to know what's going on inside your head?"_

_"Enough of this childish debate," Hades said, his eyes flaring for the briefest of seconds. "Why don't you tell me what's truly on your mind?"_

_"What do you mean?" Hermes grumbled, crossing his arms._

_"Let me rephrase. Why is it that you're sitting on the edge of a cliff staring out at the ocean and clearly wallowing in self-pity?"_

_The last part of the sentence made Hermes snort with laughter, and once again he looked up to meet his uncle's eyes. "Apollon and I had another fight," he admitted. "I dyed all of his clothes pink."_

_To Hermes' shock, the onyx eyes began to dance with laughter. "If you did that to me," he said, "you would spend the rest of eternity in Tartarus."_

Hermes blinked. His eyes settled on present-day Hades.

"You're beginning to remember your past life," he said with something akin to approval. "That's good." Then he picked up his pen and leaned over his desk, waving his other hand towards the door. "Now leave the messages and get out of my sight."

Hermes grinned and dropped the envelope on the desk, thinking that he was beginning to grow rather fond of his moody uncle. He turned away from the desk and very nearly collided with Hecate.

"Do you need help finding your way out?" she asked, not batting an eye.

He smiled and shook his head. "I think I remember the way."

She inclined her head and stepped away. "Then farewell for now, Radiant Messenger. We'll meet again."


	9. Thoughtless Blows

The clock had just struck midnight, and Hermes was still wide awake. He was sprawled across his bed, staring at the canopy above. His tortoise, which he had of course decided to name Apollon, was perched on his stomach. Periphas, his eagle who apparently never had trouble sleeping, had his head tucked beneath his wing. One small candle was the only source of light in the room.

Hermes struggled to remember the name of the god of sleep, thinking that perhaps he could send a prayer to whomever it was, but he kept drawing a blank. After several minutes of internal struggling, he growled in frustration, slid off the bed, set Apollon in his enclosure, and slipped out of the room.

The full moon high above filled the Olympian courtyard with a mystical, unearthly light. Hermes took a moment to admire the night sky before tiptoeing across the yard towards Apollon's room. When he reached the door, he turned the knob as quietly as possible and slid inside.

The sliver of moon visible through the window illuminated the room. When Hermes stepped towards the outline of the bed, he was able to see the lump beneath the covers that he knew was Apollon. Trying not to make any noise, he slid beneath the covers and wiggled towards the blonde, who was a source of comfortable heat in the drafty room. When he rested his head on a pillow, he caught a whiff of a very faint scent that he thought might be hyacinth. He inhaled deeply, trying to figure out what the fragrance reminded him of.

Apollon let out a slight moan. Hermes froze as he started to roll over, but relaxed when Apollon grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. Their bodies were pressed together from head to toe, and Hermes could feel the blond's warm breath on his face. The sensation was comforting. Hermes' eyes began to flutter shut. He felt Apollon's arm wrap around his waist and hummed slightly, enjoying the warm cocoon. Moments later, he was fast asleep.

***

He woke to the sight of a blurry figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"Apollon?" he said, blinking with confusion. His vision was still foggy from sleep.

"Who else would it be?" Apollon's voice was dry. "Unless you thought it was Eros's bed you were crawling into last night."

Hermes sat up, and as he did so, his vision began to sharpen. Apollon came into focus, and Hermes could see that his face was hard and his eyes were mere slits.

"What are you talking about?" Hermes asked, his voice hoarse from sleep. He hastily cleared his throat. "Why are you angry?"

Apollon ignored the question. "Or maybe you thought it was Ares's bed. You were quite smitten with him back in the day."

Hermes' mouth fell open. _"What?"_

Apollon's eyes, glowing unnaturally even in the dim light, flashed. "Or maybe it was _Loki._ You've been spending quite a lot of time together lately."

"Stop it!" Hermes shouted. "What is the _matter_ with you, Apollon?!"

"You've _always_ been like this!" Apollon shouted back, and Hermes got the impression that he had been yearning to say these words for a long while. "You don't understand the concept of being faithful! Then you come slinking back to me as soon as you get bored with your whores, curling up in my bed like nothing ever happened…"

Hermes scrambled to his feet, balling his hands into fist. He was standing atop the bed, for once towering over the other god. "We are _not_ in a relationship, Apollon. I am not obligated to be faithful to you, and even if I was, I haven't done anything to warrant you accusing me of sleeping around. And I crawled into your bed because I wanted to be with _you_. Not Eros. Not Ares. Not Loki. _You._ "

They stood there with electricity crackling between them, each staring down the other. Apollon's voice was like ice when he finally spoke, and Hermes got an actual urge to shiver. "I don't want to share you with anyone."

"That's not your decision." Hermes tried to match the cold tone but was sure he failed miserably. "You can't force me to be committed to you."

The hurt that flared up behind the blond's eyes made Hermes ache with guilt. But the words Apollon spoke next were even worse. "Am I not good enough for you?" he whispered.

Hermes sighed with frustration, trying to fight off the guilt. "Of course you're good enough for me, Apollon. Stop twisting my words around."

"But—"

"I'm not trying to hurt you. I just don't want to be in a committed relationship. I like my freedom."

"You like being able to sleep with whomever you want," Apollon stated, and it was amazing how his voice could sound so biting.

"No – well, yeah," Hermes admitted. "I guess it's nice to have that option without having to worry about your girlfriend – or boyfriend – finding out, but that isn't the point here."

Apollo's eyes flared; he completely ignored the last part of the sentence. "May I point out that such an outlook on life is both immoral and disgusting?" There was now more than a hint of anger on his face; spots of color had appeared on his high cheekbones, and his mouth, normally so generous, had become a thin line.

"I think you've already made that clear. What is the _matter_ with you?" he repeated through gritted teeth.

Apollon crossed his arms. His voice was quiet when he said, "I suppose I was hoping that you'd changed while you were gone. But I can see now that you haven't."

Hermes sighed and stepped down from the bed. He placed his hands on Apollon's broad shoulders before gazing up into his lover's piercing eyes. "I love you," he said in as soft a voice as possible, "but relationships aren't a part of who I am. Why can't we keep things the way they are?"

Apollon turned his head away. "I'm an Olympian," he stated, fixing his eyes upon the ground. "I always hated that I was just another one of your lovers. To you, I'm one out of hundreds of other men and women. I shouldn't have to share with anyone. I'm better than that."

Hermes raised an eyebrow at the blatant cockiness but chose to ignore it. "Apollon, I don't _remember_ any of those other people. You're the only lover I have now. I'm not sleeping with Eros or Loki, and _definitely_ not Ares. But if you don't want to be with me anymore, I understand. Let me know what you decide." With that, he stepped around the blond and exited the room.

Ares and Dionysus were standing just outside the door, and Hermes nearly ran into them upon exiting. "Trouble in paradise?" Ares drawled, flicking the cigarette that was dangling between his fingers.

"Shut up," Hermes grumbled, wafting smoke away from his face. "Didn't your mother tell you that eavesdropping is rude?"

"Actually, my mother is a champion eavesdropper," Ares smirked. Dionysus sniggered at his eldest brother's words before asking Hermes "Is everything alright?"

Hermes shrugged one shoulder. "Apollon seems to think that there's something going on between Ares and me." He nodded at the war god for emphasis.

Ares's jaw dropped open and the cigarette fell from his hand. "He said that?!"

"Uh huh. He also mentioned Eros and Loki. According to him, I'm screwing my way around the pantheon."

Dionysus's giggles had become hysterical, and Ares looked absolutely horrified. "I can't believe he said that to you!"

Hermes was confused. "What's the big deal?"

"We – um – we used to be together," Ares confessed. "Like – in a relationship."

Hermes hadn't been expecting that. When he got past the initial shock, he looked the older god up and down with interest. There was no denying that he was attractive, but in a much different way than Apollon. The blond was stunningly flawless, whereas Ares was ruggedly dashing with a jawline that could probably cut through granite.

Hermes took a moment longer to admire Ares's smoldering, dark eyes before tipping him a cheeky wink. "I bet you were great in bed."

After a moment of stunned silence, Ares grinned back. "Damn straight."

"Who's great in bed?" Loki popped into existence with a loud _crack_ and smacked Dionysus on the bottom. The violet-eyed god blushed.

"Ares," Hermes stated before realizing how that must have sounded.

Indeed, Loki smirked at his words. "Back for two days and already sleeping around, eh, Hermes? Sounds just like old times."

The corners of Hermes' mouth turned up. "Sorry to disappoint you, Loki, but we were discussing the distant past. I haven't fooled around with anyone yet."

Loki snorted. "'Fooled around'? Is that what you kids are calling it these days? In my time, it used to be 'copulation', or 'fornication'."

"Sexy," Hermes drawled, sarcasm dripping from the word.

"I always liked to say 'getting a little nooky'," Dionysus piped up. "Gives it a Dutch spin, you know?"

Next to him, Ares let out a snort of laughter.

Then a new voice joined in. "What are you three just standing around for?!"

The Greeks and lone Scandinavian turned around and came face-to-face with an irked Poseidon. Next to him was his wife, Amphitrite. She gave them a small, apologetic smile.

"There's work to be done!" the sea-god continued, putting a hand on his hip. "Ares, aren't you supposed to be polishing the swords in the armory? Dionysus, the wine cellar needs restocked. And Hermes, there are messages that need delivered. You!" he spat at Loki. "Go back to your own country! There's quite enough drama around here without you adding to it. Be gone, imbecile!" he roared quite impressively.

The four gods scattered, snickering behind their hands. Poseidon mentally congratulated himself on a job well done and walked away with his head held high. Amphitrite trailed behind him, a tiny smile on her face. She decided to wait until later to inform her husband that instead of his usual ornate crown, there was now a jester's hat resting upon his head.

***

"That was great," Hermes chuckled, clapping Loki on the shoulder. Loki, who had once again changed forms, flicked a long strand of auburn hair behind his shoulder and grinned. They had followed Ares to the armory, and said god was now brandishing a deadly-looking cutlass that wouldn't look out of place in the hand of a pirate. As Hermes watched, Dionysus picked up a more modern sword and the two proceeded to engage in a playful fight. "So what's going on between you and Blondie?" Loki asked, plopping to the floor and pulling Hermes down with him.

"Nothing, really," Hermes replied, ducking as Dionysus took a wild swing at Ares and the sword came much too close to his head. "He wants us to have an exclusive relationship but I'm just not ready for that. I mean, there's a part of me that loves him more than anything," he admitted, "but the other part of me that's still Angelo has no idea why, because he's only known Apollon for a little while. I can't jump into a serious relationship with a guy I barely know."

"While that's all true, you _did_ jump on a boat bound for Greece with said guy that you barely know," Loki said with that infuriating smile of his.

Hermes groaned and slumped back until he was lying on the floor. "I know! I've always been too impulsive."

"Understatement," Loki snorted. "But I'm not going to complain, because it's impossible to be bored with you as my best friend." The redhead dove to the ground as Ares's cutlass went flying over his head.

Hermes smiled at the ceiling and tried to ignore the pang he felt at Loki's words. _Best friend._ He missed Alex, his blond friend who said the most inappropriate things and groped him every chance he got.

"You'll see him soon," Loki said, and it took a moment for Hermes to realize that the Norse god was commenting on something that had been going on inside his head.

"Stop reading my mind!" Hermes snapped, before asking, "What do you mean?"

"I've seen him around," Loki replied airily.

Hermes shot up faster than human eyes could register, narrowly missing being beheaded by Dionysus; the youngest Olympian was now dancing around the room, slashing the sword in every which direction with no apparent intent as Ares watched in confusion.

_"What?!"_

Loki only grinned.

"But – how –"

"Did you _really_ think your father was going to let you wander around Earth unprotected?"

"Apollon said that Zeus said he didn't know where I was! Why would he leave me there if he knew?"

Loki lifted his hands. "How would I know?"

Hermes scowled at him. "How would you know any of this to begin with?" he retorted.

"Point," Loki conceded, crossing his arms beneath his head and gazing at the ceiling. He didn't look over when Hermes leapt to his feet and dashed towards the exit, dodging his brothers as he did so.

Hermes sprinted down the marble walkways, skidding around visiting gods and family members who were taking a stroll. "Don't run, you impudent brat!" Hades snarled when Hermes nearly ran into him. The messenger didn't break his stride.

When he burst into the throne room, he ran right up to the dais and skidded to a halt in front of his startled father. "Where is he?" Hermes panted, paying the other gods no attention.

Zeus cleared his throat. "Where is who, exactly?"

"Alex!" Hermes said, very nearly shouting the name. "Loki said that he's here!"

He heard someone snort in contempt but didn't turn around. He kept his eyes on Zeus, who had cocked one golden eyebrow in a fashion very similar to that of Apollon. "Alex?" the king asked, clearly befuddled. "Who is Alex?"

"My best friend!" Hermes said, still speaking in a loud voice. "The one you sent to protect me – or something like that."

Zeus's eyes widened in realization, and he let out a booming laugh. "You mean Paris! Yes, he's here. Would you like to see him?"

Without waiting for an answer, Zeus picked up his scepter and tapped it on the floor three times.

Hermes blinked at him, wondering what that was supposed to accomplish.

He understood a moment later.

"You summoned me, Father Zeus?" a familiar voice called, and Hermes felt his stomach flutter with happiness. "Alex!" he yelled, spinning around.

Alex stopped in his tracks, but then his face broke out in a wide smile. Hermes leapt off the dais and reached his friend in two large bounds. "I missed you!" he cried, throwing his arms around the other man's shoulders. Then he stepped back and slapped the blond across the face. "If you've been here the entire time, why didn't you come see me?" he flared. "And why didn't you tell me you're a god? You've been lying to me all these years!"

"Hello to you, too," Alex laughed after a moment of stunned silence. Hermes jumped forward to hug him again, laughing as well.

"So who are you?" the brunette asked once he released his friend.

"What are you talking about? You know who I am. We've been friends for five years."

Hermes hit his arm. "You know that's not what I meant!" he said, waving his arms around in exasperation. Alex's behavior had definitely rubbed off on him. "If you're here at Olympus, you must be a god, so which god are you?"

"I wasn't born a god," Alex explained, rubbing his newly bruised arm. "I became one after I died. I was called Paris when I was a mortal. Some people called me Alexandros."

Hermes blinked at him, and his mouth fell open. " _Paris?!_ The Paris that killed Achilles? The Paris that said Aphrodite is hotter than the other goddesses? The Paris –"

"Yes, yes, and probably yes," Alex interrupted, looking slightly annoyed.

Hermes smacked him again. "Why didn't you tell me who you are?!"

"Would you have believed me?" Alex countered, and then waved his hand. "Forget all that. I missed you, buddy!" He pulled Hermes into another hug.

It was then that Apollon chose to storm into the room. He threw open the double doors, much like Hermes had done, and stomped towards the king, stopping mere feet away from Hermes and Alex. "Father –" he began, looking quite upset. That was when he noticed his lover, who was still enveloped in Alex's arms.

"I see you're taking full advantage of your 'freedom'," Apollon said in a tight voice.

"Careful, Apollon," Hermes replied, his voice dispassionate. "You're making assumptions. Not good for the guy who's supposed to be one of the gods of intellect. What's that saying? Oh, right: 'Know thyself'."

Next to him, Alex let out a snort of laughter. A few of the other gods in the room allowed small smiles to cross their faces, but the majority looked shocked to see Zeus's favorite son be berated in such a manner.

Zeus himself coughed, attempting to recapture said son's attention, but the blond ignored his father. "What did you just say to me?!" Apollon demanded, his eyes snapping blue fire.

"You're making assumptions!" Hermes repeated, refusing to let himself be intimidated by the incensed god. "Did you even bother to look at who it is I'm hugging?" He jabbed a thumb at Alex. "By the way, thanks for not mentioning that he's a god, too."

Apollon's eyes followed Hermes' gesture and landed on a very amused Alex. The anger on his face was soon joined by confusion. "What are _you_ doing here?" he said with a hint of condescension.

That threw Hermes for a loop. He stepped away from Alex and looked back and forth between the two blonds. "You – you don't know each other?" His voice was unsure.

Alex grinned. "Nope!" he said, not sounding at all fazed by the uncomfortable situation. "I'd never met him before that day at your apartment. Well, that's not true, but the last time was thousands of years ago, so it doesn't really count."

Apollon, for once, appeared to be just as lost as Hermes, and he looked none too pleased about it. "What are you talking about?" he spat at Alex, taking a step forward. "Who _are_ you?"

Alex gave a dramatic sigh, also taking a step towards Apollon. "Let me give you a hint, O Great One," he said, waving his arms about with much gusto. Hermes grinned, realizing why Loki had reminded him so much of Alex. "The last time we saw each other, a great war hero died."

Apollon screwed up his face. "A war hero? Wait…" A look of realization dawned upon his face, but he didn't look any happier. "You're that Trojan prince!" he cried out. "You're the reason the Trojan War happened in the first place! How did _you_ manage to become a god?!" He shot a glare at Zeus, as though the king was somehow responsible for the entire situation, but Zeus merely shrugged.

Alex smirked, looking quite pleased with himself. "Aphrodite always liked me," was his haughty explanation.

Hermes gave him an amused glance.

A sneer quickly replaced the scowl on Apollon's face. "Don't get too big-headed, now," he mocked, and his voice was so derisive that Hermes flinched inwardly. "Do you really think my sister would spare you a glance if you hadn't picked her over Hera and Athena? You are talentless, witless, and just about as significant as an ant crawling across a bleak desert scape. Don't fool yourself, _Prince._ You're still the same spineless little boy who couldn't keep it in his pants – not even when the fate of an entire country was at stake."

This time Hermes really did cringe, knowing all too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of one of Apollon's long-winded insults. But Alex wasn't fazed. "And you're still the whorish god that raped my mother!" was his snapped retort.

The entire room froze. Zeus, who had been slouching down in his throne as though bored, immediately sat up. His back was ramrod straight, and he was watching Apollon warily.

"I didn't rape your mother!" Apollon said, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "She _begged_ me to take her. And on that note, you shouldn't speak to me so rudely, little prince. After all, I am the father of your dead brother. What did your mother decide to name him? Troilus? He was murdered by Achilles, was he not?"

"Apollon, that's enough!" Hermes cried out when Alex visibly stiffened. The brunette had no idea what Apollon was talking about; only that it had upset his friend.

Apollon's eyes landed on Hermes, and the messenger was surprised to see that he looked contrite. "Fine," the older god muttered. "I'll stop." He shot one last glare at Alex. "You're still a worthless brat."

_"Apollon,"_ Hermes warned, and the heated gaze fell on him. "What?!" the blond snapped.

Hermes couldn't take it anymore; the sight of the irritated god struck something deep inside of him, something that he couldn't possibly explain, and he found himself burning with need. He strode forward, seized the front of Apollon's shirt, and pulled him down into a smoldering kiss. At first Apollon's lips were frozen with shock, but when Hermes ran his tongue along the blond's lower lip, savoring the taste that was purely and simply _Apollon_ , his mouth opened in a silent invitation. Hermes dove in hungrily, and from somewhere behind him, Alex let out a loud wolf-whistle. A happy smile crossed Zeus's face. The other gods shook their heads, being all too familiar with the love/hate relationship that was shared by Apollon and Hermes.

When they broke apart to breathe, Hermes gazed up with hooded eyes. "I love you," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I love you, you complete and utter _jerk._ "

Apollon gave a tiny smirk. "I know. Unfortunately..." he shoved Hermes away, "...this can't go any further, because we are _not_ in a relationship."

Hermes stumbled backwards and scowled as soon as he regained his balance. "You are a petty, petty little god."

"Wait – the two of you aren't together?" Alex asked, looking shocked.

"Of course not," Hermes snapped at his friend, putting a hand on his hip and making a valiant effort to ignore his sexual frustration.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Sorry. The kissing threw me off."

"He refuses to be in any sort of relationship," Apollon said to Alex, who then looked at Hermes as though he was insane.

The messenger sputtered with indignation, both at Apollon's explanation and at the fact that the two, who had been enemies moments before, had teamed up against him. "I said that we weren't in a relationship, not that I didn't want to be in one! You never officially asked me if I wanted to – er –" He wasn't sure what sort of terms gods usually used to describe casual relationships. "—If I wanted to _date_ you."

"I suppose I didn't think I needed to after we slept together," Apollon muttered. "And you're lying, by the way. You said you like your freedom. That you don't want to be _committed._ "

Hermes rolled his eyes and Apollon scowled but remained silent.

"You're crazy," Alex declared, pointing at Hermes. "If a guy this hot confessed his undying love for me, I'd hold onto him for as long as I could." He waved a hand at Apollon as though to emphasize his words.

Hermes made a face at him. "I refuse to be lectured on relationships by someone who stole another guy's wife and caused the Trojan War in the process."

Alex looked appropriately cowed.

That was when Hermes noticed that they still had an audience. Zeus, no longer looking bored, was now watching the trio like they were an interesting television program and everyone else in the throne room was following their king's example. "I'm out of here," he declared, slipping past his two friends and heading for the door. As soon as he exited the hall, he came face-to-face with Dionysus and Ares. He raised an eyebrow at them. "I'm trying to remember the last time I walked through a doorway without the two of you being on the other side."

"Have you heard?" Ares asked, completely ignoring his words.

"Have I heard what?"

"Hera's back."


	10. The Absence of Fear

Hermes felt the blood drain from his face, and he was sure that he looked as pale as he felt. "How?"

Dionysus was chewing on the corner of his lower lip. "Someone set her free. Zeus is going to be –"

"Going to be what?" a voice interrupted, and Dionysus let out a small yelp. Zeus had appeared behind Hermes and was looking at his youngest son with an expectant expression.

"Going to be – um – so happy that I restocked the wine cellar!" Dionysus lied, looking everywhere but at his father. Ares coughed and Hermes rolled his eyes at the violet-eyed god's poor attempt at fibbing.

Zeus looked suspicious, but his sons were spared the process of being questioned when Hades and Poseidon barreled onto the scene.

"What's going on?!" Zeus roared, glaring at his brothers. "Why are you running in the palace?!"

Hades, despite being disheveled and out of breath, still managed to look miffed by his younger brother's questions. Poseidon, however, might as well have not heard. "Hera's here," the sea god said.

"Excuse me?" the king said in a deadly voice.

The group was interrupted for the third time by a raised female voice. "Let me go!" she was shouting.

All eyes traveled in that direction, and it wasn't long before a large group of people appeared. It was obvious that they were trying to restrain someone, but they appeared to be failing miserably. "I wish to see my husband!" the voice shouted again. _"Let me go!"_

Then the group broke apart, and the goddess Hera was revealed.

She was terribly beautiful, even after being strung from the sky for twenty years. Her dark eyes were snapping, seeking out the man responsible for her punishment. When she found her target, she wrapped her robe tighter around her body and stormed in his direction. Zeus's sons and brothers retreated as fast as their legs would let them.

Hera came to a halt in front of her husband. They stared at one another for several seconds, blue eyes battling brown. Hera was the first to speak. "Hello, Husband. It's been a long time."

Hermes was positive that Zeus paled slightly, but the king stood his ground. "Hello, Hera."

The queen's eyes drifted away from her husband and landed on his children, who were huddled behind him. "Hermes," she said, the name rolling off her tongue like a dirty word. If she was surprised to see him, she hid it well. "Dionysus, Ares…you're looking well."

"Mother," Ares mumbled, looking at the ground. Hermes reached out and put a comforting hand on his arm. He knew from mythology that Ares's relationship with his parents was turbulent, to say the least.

Hera turned her gaze back to her husband. "You had _no right_ to punish me in such a manner."

"And you have no right to question my decisions," Zeus shot back. "It was not your place to banish my son from the pantheon."

"He is not entitled to be here," Hera snapped. "He is the product of an affair!"

"I am the king," Zeus replied, and his voice grew louder with each passing syllable. "If I say he is allowed to be here, then you shouldn't question it. And you certainly shouldn't take matters into your own hands!"

"You broke your own rules! You call yourself the enforcer of the law, and yet you continue to father illegitimate children."

"That is not the law anymore!" Zeus shouted.

"It was when they were born," Hera flashed, pointing at Hermes and Dionysus.

Both of them cringed.

"What are we going to do?" Hermes whispered to his brothers desperately.

Ares shrugged, still looking extremely uncomfortable, but a thoughtful expression crossed Dionysus's face. A moment later, his violet eyes lit up. "I have a plan."

***

As it turned out, Dionysus's plan was to throw a massive party, the likes of which Hermes had never seen before. The palace was filled to the brim with people – except they _weren't_ people. Not in the normal sense. There were gods, hundreds of them, from all corners of the world, as well as spirits, heroes, nymphs, and daemons. Hermes even spotted a group of giants.

The messenger was shoving his way through the crowd, trying to get to the Great Hall. He felt lost in the sea of strangers. Several people called out merry greetings, but he was sure that he had never met any of them in the nineteen years he could remember. He gritted his teeth when one of the giants slapped him on the back, causing his knees to buckle slightly. Finally, he pushed his way into the main hall and instantly spotted Dionysus standing by the buffet table.

" _This_ is your brilliant plan?!" Hermes hissed once he arrived at his younger brother's side.

"Of course not," Dionysus scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "This is just a guise. You should relax. Get something to eat."

"How do you expect me to relax when I keep waiting for Hera to maul me?" Hermes demanded.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," a new voice chimed, and the two brothers turned to see Eros leaning against the table. Hermes felt his breath catch in his throat. Suddenly the situation with Hera seemed irrelevant.

"How did you escape?" Dionysus asked, not looking fazed.

"The same way Hera did," the winged god replied, flicking a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. Hermes and Dionysus waited, but Eros didn't offer any elaboration. Instead, he smiled at the messenger. "I missed you."

Hermes had to remind himself how to breathe. It was hard when his eyes kept traveling back to Eros's exquisite lips. "You – you tried to kill Apollon," he managed to accuse.

"He's a god, Hermes. He can't be killed," Eros reminded him patiently.

Hermes felt very foolish. "Right," he muttered. "Well, you still tried to shoot him."

"But I saved the day!" Loki shouted, appearing at Hermes' elbow. Alex was by his side, and they were both swaying slightly. "That punch is great, Dio. What'd you put in it?"

At his words, Alex began to giggle. " _Dio._ That's a funny name."

Eros and Hermes exchanged amused glances as Dionysus smirked at the two newcomers. "That's a secret," he replied smoothly. "I don't suppose you've seen Father around?"

Loki started to shake his head but then stumbled and grabbed ahold of Alex for support. This proved to be a mistake when they both went tumbling to the floor, crashing into the buffet table and tipping over a tray of feta cheese on the way down. Alex blinked up at them, looking very owlish. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Next to him, Loki was plucking pieces of cheese off the floor and popping them into his mouth. Eros was now sniggering loudly. Hermes wasn't sure if he should be appalled or entertained.

"Um…what should we do?" he asked Dionysus, eyeing his two best friends. Neither seemed inclined (or able) to stand up.

"Just leave them there," his fellow Olympian said, waving a dismissive hand. "We need to find Father."

 _"'We'?"_ Hermes said, incredulous. " _'We'_ don't need to do anything!"

"Fine," Dionysus said, turning away. "Good luck dealing with Hera."

"Okay, okay!" Hermes said hastily, grabbing his brother's elbow. "I'll come with you."

Dionysus beamed at him.

"I think I saw Zeus in the throne room," Eros piped up.

Hermes sighed. "Alright, let's go then."

***

The throne room proved to be even more crowded than the Great Hall. Hermes found himself sandwiched between Dionysus and Eros; the crowd was pressing in on them from all sides and the noise was almost overwhelming. "Do you see him anywhere?" Dionysus shouted in Hermes' ear. The messenger shook his head.

"See whom anywhere?" a familiar voice asked. Apollon had appeared in front of the group, looking more relaxed than Hermes had ever seen him.

Dionysus grinned at the blond. "Hey, Apollon. I take it you tried my punch?"

Apollon nodded, smiling widely. "Yes. Have I ever told you how much I love you, baby brother?" And to Hermes' shock, Apollon bounded forward and enveloped Dionysus in a tight hug. "And Eros!" Apollo continued when he had released the wine god. "I love Eros too!" He hugged Eros, wings and all.

Hermes gaped at his lover. Something was seriously wrong. Before he could begin to contemplate what it might be, Apollon looked at him with a despondent expression. "Hermes...I really do love you."

"Um – I love you too, Apollon," Hermes replied, patting him on the back whilst shooting a suspicious glare at Dionysus. _"What did you do to him?"_ he mouthed. Dionysus's grin widened, and Hermes wondered if he should be scared.

"Apollon, we're looking for Zeus," Dionysus said. "Have you seen him?"

"Here I am!" Zeus's voice boomed. "This is a great party, son."

Hermes had to fight to keep a straight face when he saw that his father was wearing a lopsided party hat.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, Father," Dionysus replied, the picture of a respectful son. "Where's Hera?"

Zeus's jovial expression faded into a scowl at the mention of the queen. "I don't know, and frankly, I don't care."

"Hmm," Dionysus hummed, producing a cup of punch out of thin air. "You should try this. I made it just for you, you know."

Zeus accepted the cup, but gave Dionysus a suspicious glance not unlike the one that had been on Hermes' face moments ago. "What's in it, exactly?"

"That's a secret," Dionysus repeated. "But I promise that it's nothing life-threatening."

Hermes had to refrain from snorting.

Zeus sniffed the concoction and apparently deemed it safe for consumption, because he downed the contents in one go. "It's good," he announced. "I'm going to get a refill." With that, he turned and headed out the door.

"Mission accomplished," Dionysus said in a dramatic whisper. "Now we just need to find Hera."

That caught Hermes' attention. "What?" he squeaked. _"Why?"_

Dionysus chose not to answer him; instead, he stood on his tiptoes to gaze around the room. "There she is! She's on her throne."

"Big surprise," Eros muttered, still standing unnecessarily close to Hermes. Luckily, Apollon didn't seem to notice. He was humming along to the music, swaying with the beat. _"Eyes on fire, eyes on fire, and they burn from all the tears…"_

"This doesn't seem like your type of music," Hermes said to Dionysus, desperately trying to distract him from Hera.

"I've never listened to a song I didn't enjoy," Dionysus informed him, not taking his eyes off the queen.

"Do you want to dance?" Apollon cut in, grabbing Hermes by the hand.

Hermes, taken by surprise, glanced around. "No one else is dancing."

Apollon wasn't listening. He dragged the messenger away from Dionysus and Eros, pulling him into the middle of the room. The same song was still on and Apollon stopped, turned to face Hermes, and put his hands on the brunette's waist. Hermes was suddenly very aware that everyone was staring at them. "Apollon –"

But the other god was already moving, and his body was as fluid as the music. Apollon shot him a smile, and he couldn't help but grin back. He forced himself to let go of the tension, letting his hips move ever so slightly to the beat.

Apollon leaned down slightly, drinking in the sight of his lover, who looked mesmerizing with inky black hair curling against olive skin–both contrasted sharply with the catlike eyes that were greener than any shade of grass. Apollon loved everything about him, from his upturned eyebrows, plump lower lip, and pointed chin to his wrinkled t-shirt and tattered jeans with the holes in the knees.

Almost like Hermes had heard that thought, he grabbed the front of Apollon's shirt and tugged him closer. When there were only mere inches between them, he broke into an all-out dance. He heard Apollon laughing delightedly, and couldn't keep the grin off his own face. A circle quickly cleared around them. He caught a glimpse of Dionysus talking to Hera and Zeus, but quickly lost sight of them when Apollon spun him in a circle. He found himself facing the opposite direction with Apollon pressed into him from behind. The blond's hands were resting lightly on his beltline, but they traveled upwards when Hermes' arms lifted above his head. _"I'll dress nice, I'll look good, I'll go dancing alone…I will laugh, I'll get drunk, I'll take somebody home…"_

He rocked his hips and then moved them in a circle, fighting back a laugh when he realized that he was actually grinding against the god of light. Apollon's slender hips responded to his, along with the rest of his body. Sweat began to trickle down Hermes' face, and his clothes quickly became damp. By then, other couples were dancing as well. He saw Persephone dancing with Hades, and Ares doing a strange sort of routine with an unusually giddy Aphrodite, but it was what he saw next that made the entire night worth the trouble: Zeus was dancing with Hera. Dionysus had managed to reconcile them.

"Apollon, do you see that?" Hermes demanded, his voice excited.

The blond's mouth was pressed against Hermes' neck. When he hummed in response, the vibration from his lips sent shivers up and down the herald's spine. Just when he was ready to turn around and ravish Apollon right in the middle of the throne room, he spotted Eros standing to the side, watching the messenger and Apollon with narrowed eyes.

A lump formed in Hermes' throat, and he stepped away from his dance partner. He felt cold without the heat of Apollon's body. "I – I need to go see Dionysus," he muttered.

Apollo looked confused, and Hermes walked away before he could start asking questions. He pushed his way through the crowd, not sure where he was going, just that he wanted to outrun the turmoil and confusion he was feeling inside.

He gasped in surprise when he ran into something solid.

"There you are!" Dionysus's voice said, and Hermes looked up into his violet eyes. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Sorry," Hermes mumbled. "Did everything go okay?"

Dionysus's annoyed expression turned smug. "You bet it did. I gave her some of my punch and she turned into putty. Zeus is going to have her take an oath tonight saying she won't harm any of us."

"Is Zeus capable of making anyone do anything at the moment?" Hermes asked dryly.

Dionysus laughed. "Of course he is. He hasn't had _that_ much to drink."

Hermes opened his mouth to answer but his words were drowned out by a commotion in the middle of the room. Shouted words rose above the music and chatter. Hermes and Dionysus looked at each other in confusion. "What's going on?"

Dionysus shrugged.

Once again, Hermes found himself shoving his way through the crowd. He entered the same circle that he and Apollon had been dancing in, Dionysus close behind. The sight that met his eyes shouldn't have surprised him, but it did.

Eros and Apollon were each staring down the other, intense dislike written across their faces. Hermes could feel power crackling through the air. Sapphire eyes battled midnight blue.

"What's going on?" Hermes asked tersely, breaking the silence.

"Eros seems to be under the impression that he has some sort of claim over you," Apollon responded. In his impaired state, his voice was louder than it might have been on a normal day.

Hermes looked at Eros, but the winged god's eyes remained on Apollon. The messenger gave a frustrated sigh. "This is ridiculous. There isn't anything to fight about."

"He was looking at you like a piece of meat," Eros snapped. "He's going to do to you what he's done to everyone else."

"And you're so much better?" Apollon challenged. "At least I use conventional methods to gain lovers. You have to resort to using those ridiculous arrows."

The argument quickly turned childish, with each of the gods bickering about the most trivial things Hermes had ever heard.

Finally, he had enough. _"Stop it!"_ he roared. "Listen to yourselves! You sound like _teenagers,_ not respected gods! If you can't act like sensible adults, then I don't think I want to be with _either_ of you!" And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room. The crowd parted for him.

***

Hermes made his way to his room and readied himself for bed, fuming the entire time. He found himself missing his old life, where things were so much simpler and no gods were fighting for his attention. He fed Apollon the Tortoise, gave his eagle fresh water, and then slid into his bed, curling into a ball beneath the covers. He could hear the music from the party, and his eyes drifted shut as he listened to the song.

***

He woke up with one side of his body warmer than the other. He groaned and rolled closer to the source of warmth. "'S cold…" he mumbled to no one in particular.

"Then I'm glad I could be of aid," a sarcastic voice said.

"Mmm," Hermes moaned happily when the other side of his body began to warm up.

Then the other voice registered in his brain, and his eyes shot open. His eyes were level with an arm that didn't belong to him.

He squawked and sat up in bed as fast as he was physically able to, coming face-to-face with a perfectly-at-ease Hades. "What are you doing in my bed?!" Hermes demanded. It occurred to him that he had spent far too many mornings waking up with Hades in the room.

"Why do _you_ think I'm here?" Hades responded, fixing Hermes with his dark gaze.

Hermes shifted uncomfortably and glanced down. He was wearing a shirt, so that was good. Trying to be inconspicuous, he lifted the covers and saw that he was also wearing pants. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. 

When he looked back up, he was incensed to see that Hades was laughing silently. "You did that on purpose!" Hermes cried out, his voice filled to the brim with indignation.

Hades nodded, sweeping his dark hair out of his face. His pale lips were still stretched in a grin. The look was alien on him.

"That was _extremely_ unnecessary," the messenger said with a huff as he shoved away the blankets and climbed out of bed. "Pick someone else to mess with the next time you decide to suddenly develop a sense of humor. Why are you here, anyway? Think you can give me a straight answer this time?"

Hades remained where he was, settling back against the pillows and looking for all the world like he belonged there. "I returned to my room after the party and saw that it was occupied by a visiting couple," he explained in a voice laced with disgust. "I didn't feel like traveling back to the Underworld and your room was right next door."

"You could have woken me up and asked," Hermes muttered, rummaging around for something to wear.

"I tried," Hades said with a smirk, "but you're a heavy sleeper, and I didn't want to miss the look on your face when you saw me in the morning."

"How thoughtful of you," Hermes said with heavy sarcasm. "Where's Persephone?"

"With her mother," Hades responded. He paused for a moment, and then said, "I saw you with Eros last night. I hope you know what you're getting in to."

Hermes threw down the comb that he'd been running through his hair and turned to glare at his uncle. "I wish everyone would stop saying that! Look, _my Lord,_ I know that you're ancient and wise and yada yada yada, but I can make my _own_ decisions. Besides, there's nothing going on between us."

Hades rolled his eyes. "If you say so. Don't come crying to me when you do something you regret."

Hermes scoffed. "As if. Could you get out of my room, please? I need to change."

Hades stood up, straightened his clothes, and left without another word. Hermes pulled off his shirt when he heard the door close and contemplated taking a hot shower. He felt groggy from the night before. _And I didn't even drink anything,_ he thought ruefully.

Before he could make a decision, he heard the door open again. "I thought I told you to leave," he snapped without turning around. "I know you think I'm incompetent, but I'm capable of changing by myself. Really – _mmph!_ " Someone had grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, and hot lips were now attacking his mouth.

"What are you doing?!" Hermes shouted, managing to shove the person away from him. His eyes widened when he saw who it was.

Apollon was standing in front of him, his pupils dilated to the point where only a thin ring of blue was visible. His hair was disheveled, as though he hadn't bothered to brush it when he'd gotten out of bed. He was still wearing the clothes from the party.

"Oh," Hermes breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Pink's _Blow Me One Last Kiss_.


	11. Mysteries

Hermes strutted into the Great Hall for breakfast, whistling the tune that Apollon and he had danced to the night before. He was late and most of the gods were already gone, but the messenger didn't care. He slid into a seat next to Ares and gazed across the table at Loki and Alex, who were sitting unusually close together. A small smirk made its way onto his face, and he vowed to ask them about it later.

"What has you so happy?" Ares asked around a mouthful of olive bread.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Despite his reprimanding tone, his smile didn't falter. "Where's Dionysus?"

"Sleeping off his hangover," Loki answered; he looked somewhat sick himself and was merely poking at his piece of milk pie instead of eating it. Hermes hummed his understanding, examining the assortment of food and trying to decide what he wanted to eat. He finally settled on cheese and olives.

Before he could begin eating, he noticed that all of his friends were staring at him. "What?"

"Aren't you going to tell us what happened with Apollon and Eros?"

"Nothing happened with Eros," Hermes answered before popping an olive into his mouth.

"So something happened with Apollon?" Alex said, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement.

"I don't kiss and tell, Alex," Hermes responded with a snicker.

Alex groaned. "You _live_ to drive me crazy."

Hermes finished chewing, swallowed, and snickered again. "Perhaps." He dodged the blow that Alex aimed at his head.

"Got any plans for today?" Ares asked, this time with no food in his mouth.

Hermes sat back and pulled one knee up to his chest, staring down at his plate with a thoughtful expression. "I was thinking about going home."

The reactions he got were almost exactly what he'd been expecting: Loki let out a shout of protest, Alex gave him an understanding smile, and Ares looked at him blankly. "This _is_ your home."

"No, it's not," Hermes said, trying not to sound impatient. "I don't remember anything from my life as a god. What am I supposed to do – stay here, sit around with my tortoise all day, and go to parties at night?"

"You have duties as the messenger," Ares pointed out, just as Loki shouted, "Why would you want to live like a mortal?!"

"We did have fun, didn't we?" Alex said, looking pensive. "It almost made me feel like I was human again."

"You can't leave me," Loki said, his lower lip quivering. Hermes had to laugh at that; Loki was really putting on a good act to get him to stay.

"Would you both relax?" he said, speaking to his Norse friend and half-brother. "I wasn't talking about leaving for the rest of eternity. But I _would_ like to keep my job."

"And how do you suppose that's possible?" Ares demanded. "We spent a long time looking for you. Do you really think Father would let you waltz off again just because you don't like it here?"

Hermes was taken aback. "I never said that I didn't like it here!"

"You have duties as a god! Stop thinking about yourself!"

"But –"

"This matter is settled!" Ares barked, and Hermes was strongly reminded of their father. The resemblance didn't deter him, though; he'd never been one to back down.

"You can't tell me what to do," he snapped at the warrior. "I had my own life for nineteen years. I made my own decisions. Did you people really expect me to come back and automatically bend to your will? It doesn't work like that."

"That's where you're wrong," Zeus's voice said from behind them. Ares and Hermes turned to face him and saw that he wasn't alone. Apollon was standing to his right and Athena was on his left. All three of them were looking at him with disapproval written across their perfect faces.

"Excuse me?"

Zeus pierced him with his icy blue eyes, and Hermes shivered involuntarily. "I may be your father," he said in a voice that rang with authority, "but I am also your king, and you will speak to me with the proper respect."

He paused for a moment, and when Hermes remained silent, he continued. "Your duties as messenger will leave you no time for an extracurricular job."

When Hermes opened his mouth to protest, Zeus pressed on in a louder voice. "You are not, however, obligated to stay here. I care not where you reside, so long as your responsibilities are taken care of. Am I understood?"

Knowing that he was defeated – after all, the king's will is law – Hermes bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

He heard footsteps, but kept his eyes on the ground. Then he felt fingertips pressing on his chin. "Look at me, child," the king's voice said, and Hermes looked up at his father's now-gentle face.

Zeus radiated power – it was easy to see and feel. But there wasn't a single trace of cruelty on his face. His eyes, now soft instead of icy, were strikingly similar to Apollon's. The front sections of his white-blond hair were done in braids, and one such plait toppled over his shoulder as he leaned down towards his son. "I'm sorry, Son. If there was a way for me to let you do as you please, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can't let you abandon the jobs that have been assigned to you for the past four millennia."

"I understand," Hermes mumbled, trying not to appear too crestfallen. Behind his father, he saw Apollon and Athena glance at each other with unreadable expressions. Then Athena leaned towards her younger brother and whispered something in his ear. Apollon gave a curt nod, turned, and left the room.

"—you'll do a lot more than sitting around with your tortoise," Zeus was saying, and Hermes blinked.

"Erm…yes?" Hermes said distractedly. Zeus raised an eyebrow, snorted at his son's inattentiveness, and patted him on the head. "You'll be fine," the king declared. "I have things to do. Enjoy your day, kids." With that, he began to walk away. Athena trailed after him.

"I hope you know I'm older than you!" Loki shouted after him, scowling.

"Would you stop yelling?" Alex groaned, rubbing his temples and wincing.

"Shut up, jerk," Loki shot back.

"Very eloquent."

"I try my best. Hey Hermes, what are you looking at?"

Hermes was zoning out again, staring with narrowed eyes at the doorway that Apollon had disappeared through. What had Athena said to him? Curiosity got the better of him, and, ignoring Loki's questions, he got up from the table and left the room in the direction that Apollon had gone, intent on finding the blond.

He didn't need to go far. Apollon was just through the doorway, apparently on his way back into the Great Hall. He stopped in his tracks, looking at Hermes in surprise, but then a smile crossed his face. "I was just coming to get you," he said.

Hermes was too busy staring at his lover's body to answer. Apollon had changed his clothes while he'd been gone (when had he had time to do that?) and the model was once again displaying his cutting-edge style. Today he was wearing stylishly faded courier jeans that hugged his slender hips. Tucked into them was a long-sleeved button-down shirt in a shade of blue that enhanced his eyes. A leather coat was folded on his arm, and a pair of black bowery boots completed the ensemble. Hermes thought that Ralph Lauren himself had probably never imagined his clothes looking so good on somebody.

"Are you alright?" Apollon asked, his smile fading. "You have a weird look on your face."

"I'm fine," Hermes managed to say. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I am," Apollon affirmed. "And you're coming with me."

"Am I?" His attention was still focused about two feet south of Apollon's face.

"Indeed. Take my hand."

Hermes mentally shook himself, trying to clear his mind, and put his hand in Apollon's. He saw the familiar flash of gold light before he once again felt like his body had gone up in flames, but it was over in a split second. Hermes opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and found himself standing in his apartment.

A grin spread over his face and he turned to face his companion. "Have I ever told you that you're amazing?"

Pink spots appeared on Apollon's sharp cheekbones, and Hermes found the sight very endearing. He stood up on his tiptoes, pecked the god's lips, and then bounced over to the telephone to listen to his messages. John had called several times, becoming increasingly more worried in each voicemail. _"Anie, I'm half-tempted to call the cops,"_ the last message said. _"I don't know what's going on, but please call me if you hear this message. I'm starting to get really freaked out."_

"Oh great," Hermes groaned. "Now I have the local police looking for me. What am I supposed to tell them? 'Sorry, but I've currently taken up residence on Mount Olympus'?"

"Honesty is always good," Apollon said from behind him, sounding perfectly sincere. Hermes turned to face him, and had to smile at the sight that met his eyes.

Apollon was poised in the center of the room, the same spot he'd stood the first time he visited the apartment. So much had changed since then. In less than a month he'd gone from being a mailman named Angelo to a Greek god named Hermes, and the man standing in the middle of his living room was no longer an unbelievably attractive model, but a fellow deity named Apollon.

There was one thing that hadn't changed, though: The older male still looked out of place in the messy apartment.

For some unknown reason, Hermes took great comfort in that small constant.

***

Apollon had left Hermes alone in the apartment, saying that he had things he needed to tend to. Hermes had called John as soon as his lover had left and invited his friend out for a cup of coffee. When they were seated across from each other at the café, Hermes began telling a story about how he'd decided to go on a spontaneous vacation and hadn't wanted anyone to know where he was going. He later mused that it hadn't been a complete lie.

John, however, wasn't satisfied with the response, and he spent several moments brooding over his coffee with pursed lips.

Hermes, extremely uncomfortable with the silence, fidgeted in his seat and racked his brain for something to say. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you something," he finally exclaimed. "Do you know what 'acestor' means? I think it's ancient Greek, but I don't know the translation."

John's surly expression vanished, replaced by a look of interest. "'Acestor'? It's a pretty common word, even in today's culture. The Ancient Greeks used it to describe Apollon. I guess the closest translation would be 'healer'. I'm surprised you didn't recognize it, actually."

_Acestor Apollon. How could I have been so stupid?_

Hermes became aware that his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it, but the sudden rush of anger he was feeling didn't dissipate.

Almost as if on cue, the tall Greek god walked into the café, wearing expensive sunglasses to match his expensive clothes. He gazed around and when his eyes landed on Hermes, he smiled and headed over to their table. "Hello," he greeted the messenger, and to John he said, "Who might you be?"

It was plain to see that John was as stunned by Apollon's beauty as everyone was when they first met him. He gaped for several seconds before finally managing to say, "I'm John."

Apollon gave him a charming smile. _"Enchanté."_

"You're French?" John asked dazedly. "That's cool."

"He isn't French," Hermes growled, not taking his eyes off Apollon even as he stood up. "He's Greek. I have to go, John. And _you,_ " he snarled at Apollon, " _You_ are coming with me."

Apollon's eyebrows rose. "Whatever for? I was looking forward to chatting with your friend."

Hermes grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the door. "I think it's time we had a little talk," Hermes hissed once they were outside. "Don't you agree, _Acestor?_ "

Apollon's eyebrows rose further, almost disappearing into his hairline. "No one's called me that in a long time."

"Obviously you still use it to refer to yourself."

Apollon's face, normally so blank, was taking on an expression of confusion. "I'm not sure I understand."

Hermes rolled his eyes. "Feigned ignorance really isn't flattering on you, Apol—"

Apollon stepped on his foot, hard, and Hermes remembered that they were in public. He gritted his teeth. "Just tell me the truth."

"Tell you the truth about _what?_ "

Hermes was growing tired of this game. "I know that you're Acestor, okay? You don't need to pretend anymore."

"I _know_ that you know that I'm Acestor!" Apollon snapped, removing his sunglasses. His eyes were beginning to narrow. "Everyone in our family knows that. I never pretended not to be."

"Then why didn't we ever talk about it?" Hermes said, impatience creeping into his voice.

Apollon's lips twitched. "I didn't know that it was an important subject for you."

 _"'Important subject'?"_ Hermes echoed. "How could it _not_ be an important subject? You were deliberately screwing around with my mind! I mean, that one night on the ship, you were laying right next to me!"

Apollon paused. His lips parted, and he now looked positively baffled. "I think we might be talking about different things."

"Stop lying to me!"

"Don't call me a liar!" Apollon snarled back, and then took a deep breath. "Why don't you explain what's going on?"

"What's going on is that you have been sending me weird instant messages, pretending to be someone else, flirting with me -!"

"'Instant messages'?" Apollon repeated. "Angelo, I've never sent anyone an instant message in my life."

Hermes opened his mouth to make a scathing remark about what a liar Apollon was – but then he remembered that he was speaking to the god of truth. "But if it wasn't you…who was it?"

Apollon's eyebrows were knitted together. "And why were they using my epithet?"

Hermes sighed. "I don't want to think about it now. I think I'm going to go back to my place and take a nap. I'm tired from this morning."

Apollon grinned at his words, and Hermes thought that if the god wasn't so dignified, he probably would have preened. "Alright. Well, I'll be home. I have work that needs catching up on."

Hermes smiled back at him. "I'll see you later then."

***

Although Hermes was glad to be back in his own bed, he had to admit that it wasn't as comfortable as the one at the palace. He dozed on and off for two hours before giving it up as a lost cause. With a sigh, he climbed out of bed and headed for the kitchen.

Although he probably should have been accustomed to surprises by that point, it still came as a shock to see someone standing in front of his fridge.

 _"Gah!"_ he shouted.

The person in the fridge didn't as much as flinch at his exclamation; rather, they straightened up and turned to face him with an air of disinterest.

"I see you're finally up," Hades said, opening a jar of pickles and sniffing at it.

Hermes put a hand over his rapidly beating heart. "You really need to stop startling me," he said. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the Underworld doing dead-people stuff?"

"Business is slow," his uncle said in the same monotone voice. "People aren't dying as much as they used to."

"What a pity," Hermes said dryly.

Hades frowned at him as he replaced the pickles, but didn't say anything else.

Hermes finally decided to ask the question that had been bugging him. "Why do you keep visiting me? I was under the impression that you hardly ever leave your kingdom."

Hades sighed, closed the fridge, and turned to face him. Hermes noticed for the first time that he was wearing a black suit. It seemed suitable for the Lord of the Dead.

"I thought," the lord began, "that after everything you've been through, you might need someone to talk to."

Hermes was dubious. "You've been checking up on me? What are you…the psychologist of the pantheon?"

Hades stared at him. "Yes."

Hermes snorted. "Well, I'm fine. I'm a little confused about what I should do, but otherwise, I'm good. Are you hungry?" Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past his uncle and opened the freezer to retrieve a carton of ice cream. He dug a spoon out of a nearby drawer and handed both to Hades. "Try this. You'll love it."

Hades didn't take his eyes off his nephew even as he removed the lid from the ice cream. "What are you confused about?"

Hermes sighed, leaning against the counter. "Father told me that I don't have to live at the palace. He said I can stay here if I want to. I thought that was what I wanted to do, but now I'm not so sure." He gave a wry smile. "After meeting all of my brothers and sisters, I think it might be lonely."

Hades plopped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, swallowed, and responded, "You could always try staying here for a little while. If you don't like it, return to Olympus. The palace has been there for thousands of years. It'll still be there if you decide you want to come back."

"That's true," Hermes conceded. "I guess I'll try that then. Thanks, Uncle."

Hades scoffed. "Don't thank me, brat. I didn't do this for your benefit. I could feel the angsty vibes you were sending out all the way down in my kingdom. It was starting to annoy."

Hermes grinned. "If you say so. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you were being nice to me. I wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."

Hades scowled, but Hermes was sure that there was laughter in his uncle's onyx eyes. Without saying another word, the Lord of the Dead stepped around his nephew and headed for the door, taking the ice cream with him.

The door closed with a snap, and Hermes was left alone.

***  
One Week Later  
***

"Poseidon is mad at you," Apollon announced when Hermes finally answered the phone.

The brunette groaned and rolled over, rubbing his eyes. "Apollon, it's the middle of the night. Why are calling me?"

"It's morning here," Apollon reminded him. "And you haven't been doing your job."

"My job?" Hermes repeated. His eyes had closed, seemingly of their own accord.

"Yes, your job. There's a mountain of letters that need to be delivered."

"That's nice," Hermes murmured, curling into a ball and pulling the blankets over his head.

"Hermes, are you awake?" Apollon demanded.

"Nope."

"Listen, you really should stop by. It's been a week. What have you been doing, anyway?"

"Mmmph," Hermes grunted.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and then the dial tone sounded in his ear. Hermes tossed the phone over the side of the bed and rolled onto his stomach with every intention of going back to sleep.

Unfortunately, Apollon had other ideas.

There was a flash of gold light from behind his eyelids, but before he could work up the motivation to see what was causing it, someone poured ice-cold water over his head.

"What the-!" Hermes yelped, rocketing up.

"I'm sorry," Apollon's amused voice said. "But you need to get up."

"Why?" Hermes moaned, slumping back against his pillows and running a hand through his soaked hair.

"We have work to do," Apollon said, his voice annoyingly cheerful. "Well, actually, _you_ have work to do. Get up! I'll make you a pot of coffee."

"Fine," Hermes grumbled, sliding out of bed. He shivered in the frigid air of his apartment and pulled off his damp shirt before following Apollon into the kitchen.

He wasn't prepared to find other people already there.

The television was on in his living room. Ares was sitting on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and a bowl of potato chips balanced in his lap. _Black Hawk Down_ was playing on the screen, and Ares was chortling at one of the battle scenes.

Athena and Dionysus had made themselves comfortable at the kitchen table and were playing a game of Gin; from the looks of it, Athena was winning by a landslide.

And Zeus was…baking cookies?

Hermes blinked, wondering if he was dreaming.

But then his father turned around and barked, "There you are! We've been waiting for you to wake up."

"No kidding," Dionysus said, not tearing his eyes away from his cards. "I have five letters that I need delivered."

"And you need to tell the president that I approve of his plan," Zeus added, dropping a ball of dough onto the baking sheet.

"What plan?" Hermes asked, thoroughly confused. Zeus sighed and waved his hand. A scroll appeared in front of Hermes. The messenger reached out and took it.

"And here are the other messages that need delivered," Zeus continued, waving his hand again. A pile of letters appeared in the corner of the living room, and Apollon had been right – it did resemble a small mountain. "You should get going. The day isn't getting any younger."

"And you might want to put on some clothes," Athena jumped in, looking pointedly at her brother's bare chest. Hermes scowled at his family but turned and trudged into his bedroom to search for clean clothes.

Five minutes later, he was donned in a black hoodie, jeans, and his winged accessories.

Apollon tsk-ed at his fashion sense, but Hermes ignored him. "How am I supposed to carry all of these?" he asked, staring at the letters.

Ares snorted at him.

"Just use your powers," Apollon said. "It's not difficult. Watch…"

Apollon focused on the letters and waved his hand. They vanished. He waved again, and they reappeared.

"Now you try."

Hermes bit his lower lip but did as he was told. It took him three times before he was able to make the letters vanish. "But where do they go when we do that?"

"Does it matter?" Ares asked. His eyes were still glued to the television.

"I guess not."

"Here is a list of all the people you need to visit," Zeus spoke up, handing him an old-fashioned scroll. Hermes unrolled it and winced when he saw that it was easily five feet long.

Zeus noticed this and grinned. "It's not usually this bad. Just don't let the messages pile up."

"Thanks for the help," Hermes sighed.


	12. Through the Glass

And thus it was that Hermes spent the next week delivering the late messages, crossing names off the scroll as he went. The job was easy enough, if not rather exhausting. He simply had to concentrate on a person's name, and his wings flew him to their location (although he still hadn't figured out how to control the speed). He used his powers to summon the proper message – it was considerably easier than digging around for it by hand.

He met many famous people while on the job, including the president of the United States, Her Majesty the Queen, and Paul McCartney. He left Oprah's house after a long talk that left him feeling much better about life, and Rachael Ray's house with a plate of cookies for himself and recipes for Hestia.

When the last letter had been delivered, Hermes flew back to his apartment with his eyes half-closed. He stumbled through the front door and began making his way back towards his bedroom. It didn't come as any surprise when he ran into someone on the way there.

"Get out of my way," he mumbled, not bothering to see who it was. "'M tired."

"I made you something to eat," a soft, familiar voice said. "I thought you might be hungry."

Hermes let out a small hum; Eros's velveteen voice was like music to his ears. "Alright," he agreed, and let the winged god lead him back to the kitchen.

He ate the food in a mechanic manner, not sure what it was he was putting in his mouth, only that it was delicious. Eros sat across from him, watching him with those lovely dark eyes. Hermes noticed that his wings were hidden beneath some kind of glamour, but it didn't keep him from looking any less alluring.

How does he do this to me? Hermes thought, absently twirling a fork between his fingers as he stared back at his companion.

They sat in silence. Hermes hadn't noticed that his plate had vanished as soon as he had eaten the last morsel of food. The apartment was dark, the only light coming from a single candle in the center of the table that the messenger didn't recall putting there.

The candlelight made Eros look more ethereal than usual; Hermes was sure that he was glowing in the dimness of the room.

Emerald eyes gazed into midnight blue, and Hermes felt himself draw in a shuddering breath. "It's you, isn't it?" he heard himself say.

"What do you mean?" Eros asked quietly.

"You're him. You're Acestor."

Eros didn't answer, and Hermes knew that he had his answer.

But his mind was too foggy to ask any more questions, and before he knew what was happening, his eyes had drifted shut. "Acestor," he murmured just before falling asleep.

***

He woke up the next morning in his own bed but unsure of how he got there. The last thing he remembered was coming home and meeting Eros.

He shrugged it off and climbed out of bed, intent on eating a good breakfast.

Today he found Artemis, Aphrodite, and Athena in his living room. A Cretan Hound was curled up on the couch with its head in Artemis's lap. Hermes glanced at it and said, "I'm not supposed to have animals in here, you know."

Artemis didn't bat an eye. "I'll need to have a talk with whoever came up with that rule."

Hermes chuckled as he pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge and set a skillet on the stovetop.

Athena stood up and joined him in the kitchen. "I've been meaning to ask," she said casually. "How are things with Apollon?"

Hermes raised his eyebrows at her as he waited for the skillet to heat up. "Fine, I guess. I haven't seen him all week."

She gave a small smile. "I meant in the romantic sense."

"Ah," Hermes said, cracking an egg. "Well, I don't really know. We haven't talked about it."

She pursed her lips. "Hermes, you're the Lord of Communication, and this should be high on your list of things to discuss."

He shrugged, looking around for a spatula. He grinned when Athena produced one out of thin air and handed it to him. "Thanks. And it isn't that I'm incapable of talking about, just that I really don't want to."

"Any particular reason why?" Athena asked casually.

Hermes glanced up into her ancient, all-knowing eyes, and realized that she knew about Eros.

"Love triangles are so romantic," Aphrodite sighed. She had appeared at Athena's elbow.

"There's nothing romantic about this situation," Hermes grumbled, flipping the eggs. "And I'm not in love with Eros."

"Is he not good enough for you?" Aphrodite asked, her tone dangerous.

Hermes winced; he had forgotten that she was his mother. "Of course he's good enough, but I love Apollon."

She relaxed, looking slightly mollified. "Good. Do you have any orange juice?"

He nodded and she moved towards the fridge.

"Love is a tricky thing," Athena said, her voice soft. "It comes in all different forms."

"I know that," Hermes muttered, trying to hide his frustration with the topic.

She hummed. "How do you feel about what you learned last night?"

"What do you mean?" Hermes asked, flipping the eggs onto a plate.

"About Eros."

He paused, holding the plate. "I learned something about Eros?"

Her mercury eyes studied his face. Aphrodite had slipped out of the room. "You don't remember?"

Hermes shook his head, feeling confused. "No – I don't really remember anything after I came home. I know he was here, but I thought he left after I went to bed."

"He did," Athena agreed. "But something happened before that. You learned something important."

"...I did?" Hermes asked blankly.

"Indeed. Now, please excuse me. There's something I need to do."

Hermes opened his mouth to protest, but she vanished with a flash of bright light before he could. He stood there in his kitchen, holding his eggs that were rapidly becoming cold, and wondering what in the name of Zeus she had been talking about.

***

"Why don't I remember anything?" Hermes fumed, pacing back and forth in front of Loki and Alex. "It doesn't make any sense!"

"Maybe he drugged you," Alex suggested, and Hermes paused to consider his words.

"I don't think so," Loki disagreed. "There would be other symptoms if he had. I think it's more likely that there's someone that doesn't want you to remember what happened."

Hermes let out a string of curses in Greek. "That's just lovely. Just what I need – someone else deciding what's best for me!"

Loki frowned. "Things like this aren't usually heard of."

Once again, Hermes stopped in his tracks to stare at his friend. "It has happened, though?"

Loki shrugged, putting his feet on the coffee table. "Sure. In our world, if the Norns decide that someone has veered too far off their path for whatever reason, they'll step in and set them right."

"The Norns?" Hermes asked, thoroughly lost.

"They're the goddesses who rule destiny," Loki explained. "You have them too, but I forget what they're called."

"The Moirai," Alex said. "Better known as the Fates. Not anyone you want to mess with."

"I didn't mess with them!"

"If they're the ones who took away your memory, you've done something they didn't like."

"What did Athena say about last night?" Loki asked, leaning forward.

Hermes chewed on the corner of his lip. "Just that I'd learned something important about Eros."

"Then maybe they don't want you messing with Eros," Loki proposed. "They wouldn't be the only ones."

"What's your problem?" Hermes demanded. "He hasn't done anything to you!"

"You're right," Alex said soothingly. Loki was gaping at the unexpected outburst. "He hasn't. Loki is just looking out for you. Eros is a powerful god, Hermes. He's one of the primeval ones."

"I don't even know what that _means_ ," Hermes snapped.

"It means that he sprung from Chaos at the beginning of all things."

"That doesn't make any sense. I thought he was Aphrodite's son."

"She sort of adopted him. They've been joined at the hip ever since she was born."

Hermes blinked rapidly at this new information. If what Alex was saying was true, then Eros was older than all of them put together – not to mention one of the most powerful gods in existence.

"He has the power of love," Alex continued. "Some people think that love is the most powerful weapon there is."

Hermes wanted to disagree, wanted to say that things like nuclear weapons or Zeus's thunderbolts were much more powerful than love, but he didn't have the will to argue. It felt like his head was spinning.

"It doesn't matter if he has the power of love," Hermes finally said. "Because I don't love him. I love Apollon."

Loki and Alex glanced at each other, and Hermes knew that neither of them believed him. His suspicions were confirmed when Loki said, "We're not saying that you fell in love with him willingly, Hermes. There's a chance that he manipulated you into feeling this way."

"You sound like a paranoid old man," Hermes snapped. "Pretty soon you'll be talking about how the end of the world is coming."

"It _is_ coming," Loki said, and Alex let out a bark of laughter.

"Yeah, whatever," Hermes said, crossing his arms. "The bottom the line is that even though I find him attractive, I definitely don't love him. Now, what are we going to do about these Fates?"

Alex looked alarmed. "What do you mean? We aren't going to _do_ anything about them!"

"They took my memories!"

"I'm sure they had a reason to. And if they decided that's what's best, then you shouldn't question it."

"I'll question anyone who messes around with my head," Hermes declared.

Loki groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I liked you a lot better before Hera threw you off the mountain."

Alex nodded in agreement, and Hermes rolled his eyes at them. "Are you going to help me or not?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Loki sighed. "Sure, why not? I guess it doesn't matter if I die now or during Ragnarok."

"What exactly are you planning on doing?" Alex said reluctantly.

***

After delivering the day's messages, Hermes walked into his apartment to find Apollon sitting on his couch, staring at his reflection in in a handheld mirror.

"So _are_ you the fairest of them all?" Hermes asked with a snicker.

"I don't know. Am I?" the blond asked mysteriously.

Hermes tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair and moved to sit next to his lover. He gazed into the mirror, watching his own reflection stare at Apollon's unusually forlorn face. "What's wrong?"

"Do you find think Eros is more handsome than I am?" Apollon blurted out.

Hermes raised his eyebrows, and his reflection followed suit. "You're both extremely attractive, just in different ways. I've got to tell you, though…I'm sick of talking about him. How about we talk about – um – _other things?_ " His voice was very suggestive, and he leaned forward with the intention of kissing Apollon – but the blond was still frowning at the mirror.

"What now?" Hermes asked grumpily.

"You didn't answer me."

Hermes groaned and slumped back against the couch cushions. "Apollon, this is ridiculous. You're acting like a child."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

Hermes gave a wry smile. "No."

"I didn't think so."

"Listen to me," Hermes said sharply, and Apollon looked up to meet his eyes. "You are beautiful, smart, and talented. You can also be a sulky, jealous, petty asshole. And that's _exactly_ why I love you."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or flattered," Apollon muttered, but there was a small smile on his lips.

Hermes grinned, pleased with himself. "Maybe you should be both. Now stop sulking and kiss me."

***

Later that night Hermes was lying in bed on his stomach, his eyes half-closed. Apollon was propped up on an elbow next to him, tracing patterns on his back with one slender finger. There was a small callus on the tip of the finger that Hermes assumed was from archery, and the roughness tickled his skin slightly.

"I want to see your bow and arrow," Hermes murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow.

The finger paused. "Is that some sort of innuendo?"

"No, I meant the actual weapon. You know, the one you're so famous for."

"What made you think of that?"

"You have calluses."

Hermes felt Apollon retract his hand, and knew that the blond was examining his fingers. "Do they bother you?"

"Definitely not. And if you don't keep touching me, I'm going to have to punch you."

Apollon let out a light laugh and resumed his pattern-tracing.

"Do you think we should talk about our relationship?" Hermes asked after a moment of silence.

"Why do you ask?"

Hermes raised one shoulder in a shrug. "People keep telling me that we should."

"By 'people', you mean Athena," Apollon deduced, and Hermes hummed in confirmation. "I suppose so. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, I suppose the biggest question should be: Are we actually _in_ a relationship?"

"You know I would love nothing more than to be with you," Apollon said, running his fingers through Hermes' ebony hair. "So it's really your choice. I know you said you didn't want commitment."

Hermes rolled over to face the other god. "Things are different now. I've known you longer…and I think I might be ready for something more serious."

Internally he was thinking: _and maybe Eros will stay away now._ He thought distance might make it easier for him to resist the winged god.

Apollon's eyes analyzed him for a few seconds before a smile crossed his face. "Really? You're sure?"

Hermes smiled, tilting his head up in a silent invitation for a kiss. "Positive."

***

"Are you ready?" Loki asked as soon as Hermes had finished changing his clothes the following morning.

"I think so," Hermes said, glancing down at his attire. "Do you think this is okay to wear?"

He wasn't exactly sure if there was a dress code people were supposed to follow when they visited the Fates.

"It's fine," Loki told him. The Norse god looked like he was dressed for hiking. He even had a backpack slung over his shoulders.

"What's in the bag?" Hermes asked him.

"Bottles of water, extra pairs of socks and underwear, a snake bite kit, some condoms—"

"Where exactly do you think we're going?" Hermes asked, staring at his friend.

"It's always good to be prepared," Loki said, sounding defensive.

"I guess so. But _condoms? Really?"_

Loki chose not to answer; instead, he stuck his tongue out.

Hermes snorted.

As soon as Alex arrived, the three friends were heading off to pay the Fates a not-so-cordial visit. Finding them would be easy with the powers that Hermes wielded as the messenger; evading Zeus would prove to be more difficult. According to Alex, all of the Olympians were under strict orders to leave the Fates alone.

"Your plan is foolish," a familiar voice said, and the two tricksters turned to see Hades sitting cross-legged on Hermes' bed.

"If you're here to insult me, feel free to leave," Hermes said to him.

"I'm here to help you," Hades corrected, "but I thought it prudent to warn you that whatever it is that you're attempting to do will most likely fail. The Fates are not to be reckoned with."

"I understand that," Hermes said, quickly growing impatient with the repetitive warnings. "I just want some sort of explanation! Why doesn't anyone understand that?"

"Idiot boy!" Hades snapped, jumping to his feet. At full height, he towered over his nephew. "The explanation has already been given! Whatever happened that night interfered with the course that has been set for you. If your dimwitted mind can't understand that, then know this: Aggravating the Fates will help nothing."

"Hey, what's going on?" Alex asked, appearing at Loki's side and shooting a wary glance at Hades.

"Lord Hades was just giving us some advice," Hermes answered before returning his attention to Hades. "Thank you, Uncle."

Hades glared at him but gave a curt nod before disappearing with a flash of black light.

"You know, they call him 'Eubulus' for a reason, Hermes," Alex said. "It means 'giver of good counsel'. If he gave you advice, you should probably listen to him."

"I've never listened to anyone before and I don't plan on starting now," Hermes retorted, and Alex sighed, throwing himself onto the bed in a show of defeat.

Loki and Hermes both jumped when the Trojan prince let out a yelp of pain. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?!" Hermes shouted, thinking that Hades had come back for revenge.

"I sat on something!"

And indeed he had. Sitting on the bed in spot that Hades had recently vacated was an old-fashioned helmet. Hermes thought that it wouldn't have looked out of place on the head of Achilles or Hector.

"Uh – what is that?" Hermes asked, glancing at his friends for an explanation. He was surprised to see that Alex, although holding his sore behind, was staring at the helmet with wide eyes and parted lips. "That's the Helm of Darkness!" he breathed.

"The what?"

"It's supposed to make whoever wears it invisible to everyone," Loki explained, "including deities."

"Hades must have left it here for you!" Alex said.

Hermes was hit by a wave of understanding. "So Dad won't be able to see what we're doing!"

"So he won't be able to see what you're doing," Loki corrected.

Hermes waved his hand. "You're not Olympians, so it's not as big a deal for you. You won't get in trouble."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, if we're actually going to do this, we should get going," Loki said. "I have things to do."

"Let's go," Hermes agreed, setting the helmet on his head and taking each of them by the arm.

With a beat of his wings, they were off.


	13. Silver Bow and the Threads of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Faith is the silver thread upon which the pearls of the graces are to be hung. Break that, and you have broken the string...the pearls lie scattered on the ground."_ -Charles H. Spurgeon

"This is so _weird!_ " Loki hissed. "I can't see you!"

"That's the _point,_ " Hermes hissed back, and Loki scowled at where he thought Hermes was standing.

They had landed in a vast field. Far in the distance three women were visible: they were wearing bright robes. One was holding a distaff and spindle, another appeared to be carrying some sort of rod, and the last had a large pair of shears in her hand.

"Is that them?" Hermes whispered. Alex nodded, but before anyone could do anything else, the woman holding the shears called across the field, "You may come forward, children."

Hermes froze. Turning to his friends, he saw that Alex had a look of panic on his face. "What do we do?!" he squeaked.

Loki lifted his chin. "We do what we came to do: talk to them." And with that, he began marching towards the women with his head held high. Hermes followed suit. Alex let out a whimper but jogged after them, as though reluctant to be left alone.

"—just wanted to talk with you guys," Loki was saying when Hermes arrived at his side. Up close, he saw that the three women seated on the ground were very elderly in appearance. There were scrolls and lengths of thread scattered all around. Realizing that these threads were directly attached to the lives of people, he made sure not to step on any of them.

"We will listen to what you have to say," the one with the spindle consented, still speaking to Loki, "but that is all. Now, what could the Olympian herald, a Norse trickster, and a Trojan prince possibly want to discuss with us?"

Alex and Loki both turned to where they assumed Hermes was standing, their jaws hanging open. Hermes cleared his throat. "How did you know I was here?"

"We are the daughters of Nyx, Radiant One," one of them explained with a trace of amusement. "I'm sure you know that she is the goddess of darkness. With her as our mother, there is no one who can hide from us, even when using the strongest of shadows as a cloak.

Allow us to introduce ourselves," she continued. "I am Clotho, the spinner of life. This," she pointed to the one with the rod, "is Lachesis, the drawer of lots."

"And I am Atropos," the last sister concluded. "It is my duty to cut the threads of life. Now, what is it you wanted to talk to us about?"

"I—I want to know why you took away my memory of Eros, that night at my apartment," he said, trying to make his voice sound strong. Might as well live up to his duty as the lord of communication.

"Ah, yes," Lachesis hummed. "It is difficult to understand why love cannot always be allowed to run its course. The simple answer is this, Messenger: Eros does not have a place in your future. Not as a lover and not as a friend. Fate must run its course without obstruction. If you had been allowed to keep that memory, you would have veered from the path that has been set for you."

"He has manipulated you in ways that you are better off being unaware of," Clotho added. "Eros is a powerful god you would do well to stay away from. He has caused us more trouble than all of the other deities put together. Any feelings you think you have for him are completely fabricated, young messenger."

"But—" Hermes began to protest.

"You know with whom you are meant to be," Clotho cut across him, her face stern. "If you do not believe me, then I will show you. Lachesis, what did you do with his thread? Ah, here it is…"

From a basket she pulled a long length of string – much longer than the others Hermes could see. When Clotho touched it, it began to shimmer with an unearthly light. "Put your finger right here," she instructed, gesturing with her other hand. After a moment of hesitation, Hermes obeyed.

It was like someone had plunged him into a pool of water. He couldn't breathe through his nose or mouth, and his eyes had closed of their own accord. Goosebumps popped up all over his flesh.

And then it stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. When he opened his eyes, he saw that his life was quite literally flashing before him. There was Apollon, with hair much longer than it was presently, dressed in robes. His mouth was set in a thin line, and he was holding an infant in his arms. Said infant had a crop of curly black hair. With a jolt, Hermes realized that the baby was his newborn self.

There was a flash, and the setting changed. There he was, this time full-grown, wearing a cloak and winged sandals. Apollon was standing nearby, a silver bow-and-arrow in his hands. "I made you something," Hermes heard his past-self say, and he handed Apollon a flute.

Another flash. Apollon was holding a weeping Hermes, a very strange expression on his face.

Then the position was reversed, and Hermes was holding a weeping Apollon. They were standing before a young laurel tree.

They were in bed, and Hermes was throwing his head back in ecstasy…

A longer flash, and he and Apollon were walking up to a house, both wearing modern-day clothing. Hermes realized that this must be the future. He watched as Apollon unlocked the door and ushered Hermes inside. They disappeared together, and the door closed behind them. It was like a symbolic moment – like they would always be together.

And then everything went dark, and he heard Apollon's voice whisper, "I will _always_ love you."

***

"Hermes?" a distorted voice said. _"Hermes!"_

"What?" Hermes mumbled. He wanted to open his eyes to glare at the person yelling so obnoxiously, but his lids were too heavy.

"Stop being lazy and get up!"

The voice was becoming clearer. Hermes thought he recognized Loki's drawling, sarcastic tones.

"Don't want to."

"Hermes, if Nyx and her children can see you even with that helmet on, there's a good chance one of them has tattled on us," Alex's voice spoke up. "We need to get out of here."

Hermes finally opened his eyes and sat up. Loki and Alex were eyeing him with worried expressions. He ignored them and glanced around. The Fates were nowhere to be seen, but a god he didn't recognize was standing several feet away, as though he didn't want to come too close to the group. His eyes, bright gold, were filled with concern.

"Helios!" Alex said suddenly. He, too, had just noticed the presence of the fourth person.

"Hello, Prince Paris," the god called Helios—the sun god, Hermes remembered—said warily. "I wanted to let you know that Nemesis has informed Father Zeus of your visit to the Fates. I don't think she likes you very much."

Alex groaned dramatically. "I don't think she ever forgave me for taking Helen to Troy," he said just as Hermes squeaked "Dad knows?"

"We're done for," Loki moaned, falling to the ground in a dramatic display that Hermes might have found funny if he hadn't just become very concerned for his well-being.

Then something occurred to the messenger. "Why are you helping us, Helios?" he asked suspiciously. As far as he knew, Helios didn't often make it his business to help rebellious Olympians and their friends.

If Helios was taken aback at being spoken to by someone he couldn't see (Hermes had yet to remove the borrowed helm), he hid it well. The sun god opened his mouth to respond, but never got the chance.

"I asked him to keep an eye on you," a familiar voice answered. Apollon had materialized next to Helios. The blond shot the sun god a grateful look. Helios gave a curt nod, and, without bothering to speak, vanished on the spot.

"I don't need a babysitter, Apollon," Hermes said, annoyed.

"Yes you do," Apollon retorted. His electric blue eyes landed on the spot where his lover's voice was coming from. "You're famous for doing idiotic things." After a second's pause, he added, "And that's why _I_ love _you._ "

Hermes gave a wry smile at the fact that Apollon was quoting his own words back at him.

"You can take that thing off," Apollo continued. "Father isn't upset."

With a sigh of relief, Hermes pulled off the helmet.

Apollon smiled when his lover seemingly popped into existence, all wild black hair, slightly upturned eyebrows, large eyes, and a button nose.

And Hermes gazed back at the Olympian god of light, who had laurel leaves fastened in his hair and a silver bow slung over his back, along with a quiver.

"You brought the bow-and-arrow with you!" Hermes exclaimed.

"I did," Apollon smiled back. "I remembered that you said you wanted to see it."

"This is so cool," the messenger breathed, staring at the gleaming weapon that had been so infamous in Ancient Greece. It was easily five feet long, string nock to string nock. "Shoot something!"

"Gladly," Apollon said slyly, and Hermes saw that his blue eyes landed on Loki and Alex.

"Not them!" Hermes clarified hastily. "How about the highest branch on that tree?" He pointed to a tall oak at the edge of the field, easily five-hundred feet away. "Alright," Apollon agreed.

Hermes, Alex, and Loki stepped back as he unharnessed the weapon and pulled an arrow out of the quiver. He took his stance, and, holding the bow in his left hand, nocked the arrow onto the bowstring. His index finger rested above the arrow nock; his seconds and third fingers below it. The fingers curled, the back of his hand became flat, and he pulled slightly on the bowstring. Then he raised both arms. The elbow of his drawing arm came up almost to his ear, and Hermes watched the muscles of that arm flex. And then, in one smooth motion that was nearly too quick to see, he pulled the bowstring back until his hand was placed against his ear. His eyes narrowed as he took aim, and the _whoosh_ of the arrow was audible when he lifted the three fingers from the bowstring. Hermes let his eyes linger on Apollon, who still had both arms lifted in the release position, before turning to follow the arrow's path.

The arrow was sailing through the air, its path straight and true. Even though the day was rather windy, it didn't waver at all.

The arrow hit the highest branch with a dull _thud._ Loki whistled under his breath. Hermes looked back at Apollon, who had a small smile on his face. The smile, though, became a full-fledged grin when Hermes declared, "You're amazing."

"Thank you."

"That was an easy shot!" Alex objected, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the idea of seeing more of Apollon's archery skills. "I bet you can't hit that tree way over there!"…

***

"Do you miss me yet?" Dionysus chimed when Hermes trudged into his apartment. The younger god was sprawled across the couch, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

"Actually, it's a relief not having to see your ugly mug every day," Hermes joked. "My eyesight has improved drastically since I left."

"Hardy har har har," Dionysus grumbled, but his expression brightened almost immediately. "There's someone I want you to meet!"

It was only then that Hermes noticed the woman in his kitchen, bustling around the stove. "Who's that?" he asked casually, by now quite accustomed to strangers invading his privacy.

"Ariadne," he said proudly. "My wife."

"You have a _wife?_ " Hermes asked, unable to hide the incredulousness in his voice.

Dionysus didn't appear to be upset. "Of course I do. Isn't she beautiful?"

And she was. Her face was not stunning like Aphrodite's or breathtaking like Hera's, but held a sweetness that made one stop to look twice. "She really is," Hermes agreed sincerely, "and whatever she's making smells really good. I didn't know there was any food left in the fridge."

"Zeus gave us money for groceries," Dionysus admitted. "Athena told him that we had eaten all of your food. By the way, I invited –"

At that moment, Poseidon burst through the door. Following close behind was Amphitrite. "Is the food ready?" the sea god demanded of Hermes without prelude.

The messenger shrugged.

"Be polite," his aunt chided, putting a hand on her husband's large arm. "Let's sit down."

"Thanks for warning me," Hermes said under his breath so that only his brother could hear. Dionysus smiled sheepishly. "Well, that's not all. I also invited—"

"I don't care!" Aphrodite's shrill voice shouted. A second later, she stormed into the room. Hephaestus wasn't far behind. "Don't you have any willpower?!" he yelled at her back. She ignored him and flounced past Hermes to sit next to Amphitrite.

"Is that all?" Hermes asked Dionysus, purposely making the words dry.

"Actually—"

"We're here!" Persephone said, appearing with a flash of light.

"Can't a guy finish a sentence around here?" Dionysus huffed, not bothering to greet Hades, who had just popped into existence.

"Why would we want you to finish your sentences?" the lord of the dead asked. "You never have anything intelligent to say."

Dionysus lifted his middle finger in a very rude gesture that made Hermes chuckle.

"My point is proven," Hades said.

"So you decided to have a couples' get-together at my place, when I don't even have a spouse?" Hermes asked Dionysus.

"Of course not," Dionysus said, looking affronted. "I would never—"

"Hello, all," Apollon's exquisite voice rang through the room. Hermes' eyes landed on his lover, and he saw that the blond was looking just as incredible as he sounded. Tonight he was wearing Armani again, this time a black, long-sleeved button-down shirt tucked into black slacks, complete with a black belt. His hair, done in a braid, hung over his shoulder. Hermes felt his mouth go dry.

"Get a haircut," was all he managed to say.

Apollon shot him a half-hearted glare. "Never. And is that any way to greet your favorite man in the world?"

"You aren't a man," Hades snapped as Hermes smirked at the blond. "You're a _god._ There's a difference."

Everyone ignored him.

"How cute," Aphrodite crooned.

"As touching as that was, I'm really hungry," Hephaestus griped, putting a hand on his stomach. Aphrodite shot him a sore look.

"It's almost done!" Ariadne called from the kitchen.

"Good," Poseidon said, crossing his arms. "I don't want to stay in this hole any longer than necessary."

"Agreed," Hades said.

Persephone and Amphitrite exchanged bemused looks.

"This is a nice place," Aphrodite contradicted, gazing around. "It just needs a woman's touch."

Apollon raised an eyebrow just as Hermes snorted. "That's not about to happen."

The love goddess gave him an indulgent smile. "She doesn't have to be a lover. Perhaps just an aunt, a sister, a niece, a cousin –"

"He gets the point," Hephaestus said, his voice snarky.

"You can decorate, if you want," Hermes consented. She looked pleased.

"I'd like to help," Persephone said, and Amphitrite murmured in agreement.

And just like that, the girls were off, chattering non-stop about things to do with the apartment.

"You'll be lucky if you don't end up with pink wallpaper," Hephaestus said to his younger brother. Hermes cringed at the thought, and Apollon laughed delightedly.

***

"How did you get to be so beautiful," Hermes sighed as he ran his fingers over Apollon's face.

Apollon's eyes were closed, but his lips curved into a small smile.

They were lying on Hermes' bed, with the messenger propped up on one elbow. His fingers trailed up the aristocratic nose, over the broad forehead, and into the golden curls that had recently been unbraided. "I should have people over for dinner more often," Hermes decided as he combed his fingers through his lover's hair.

Apollon opened one eye and still managed to look disdainful. "Why would you want to do such a stupid thing?"

The messenger smoothed a few stray curls away from Apollon's forehead before settling against the blond's side. He nuzzled his face just below the other's chin. "I think it's good to be around other couples."

"We're around other couples all the time," Apollon pointed out.

Hermes knew that it would be best not to argue. "If you say so."

They were silent for several moments.

"Do you love me?" Apollon suddenly asked.

Hermes lifted his head, thrown off by the question. "Of course I do!"

"No – I mean—" He sat up and paused, clearly searching for the right words. "I know you loved me in the past before you lost your memories, and that you still had some of those feelings for me when we met on your mail route. What I meant was, have you fallen in love with me in _this_ life? Or are you just in this relationship because you think it'll keep Eros away?"

Hermes blinked at Apollon's perceptiveness. "I—"

"Because I _know_ you," Apollon continued, cutting across his lover. "You're incapable of being faithful to _anyone._ You quite literally have a girlfriend in every city, and it makes no sense to me that you would ask to be in a serious relationship – unless you really do love me."

Hermes was quiet while he processed all of these words. "Apollon – you know that I fell in love with you even before we left for Greece. But regardless, you're right. I _did_ ask you to be in a serious relationship because I thought it might make it easier for me to resist Eros. _But,_ " he hastened when Apollon's eyes filled with hurt, "I've learned something since then."

"What?"

Hermes smiled. "We're meant to be together."

Apollon sighed. "Well, _I_ know that. I'm still not sure that you do, though…"

"No, _really_ ," Hermes interrupted. "I mean, it's _fate._ "

"Of course it's –" He stopped abruptly. "Wait. You don't mean…?"

Hermes grinned and nodded. "That's _exactly_ what I mean."

Apollon's mouth fell open. "They let you see your thread?"

Hermes laughed. "It was an easy way to get me to shut up, I guess. And, you know..." He winked at his lover. "I'm just so cute."

Apollon ignored the last part. "Not even I can see that far into the future," he sighed, carding a hand through his hair. "It's nice to know that I won't lose you."

Hermes' eyes crinkled in a smile, and he crawled across the bed until he was kneeling in front of the other god. "We're in the same pantheon, Apollon. You would never really _lose_ me."

"You know what I mean," Apollon shot back. "You aren't that smart. How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't go running to the first woman that batted her eyelashes at you?"

"Hey!" Hermes exclaimed, brimming with indignation. "I'm smarter than you are!"

"Not when it comes to realizing what a great catch I am," Apollon sniffed, turning his nose up.

Hermes shook his head and laughed. "Cut it out. 'Snobby' really isn't a good look on you."

"Fine," Apollon gave in. "On another topic, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Hermes hummed, urging him on.

"As my new consort, I think –"

_"Excuse me?!"_

"What?" Apollon asked, annoyed at the interruption.

"I am _not_ your consort!" His green eyes were filled with outrage. "What, do you expect me to just stay home all day, baking cookies with Zeus and sitting around with my tortoise? Because _that's_ what comes to mind when you say 'consort'!"

Apollon looked affronted. "Of course not. Fine, I'll rephrase. As my new mate –" 

"We aren't monkeys!" Hermes snapped. "You just made it sound like the Discovery Channel is going to show up to film us _'mating'_ in the wild."

_"All right!"_ Apollon cried out, extremely aggravated. "As my new _companion—_ " 

"Much better," Hermes approved, and Apollon scowled.

"As my new companion, I really think you should move back to Olympus."

Hermes crinkled his nose. "Don't you have a house around here, too?"

Apollon looked disgruntled. "Actually, I promised Loki that he could live there. At least that'll keep him out of our hair for a while."

Hermes sniggered. He could most definitely picture Loki strutting around a massive manor. "Ten bucks says Alex moves in with him. I still think there's something going on between those two."

Apollon made a face. "A Norse trickster and a Trojan prince…who would've thought."

"Not me," Hermes agreed.

Then Apollon smiled. "Then again…I suppose the god who could not tell a lie and the patron god of thieves make an odd pair, too."

"That's true," Hermes said with a grin and wink. "Odd, but great."

"So you'll move back to the palace?" Apollo asked, and his face was so hopeful that Hermes couldn't bear to say no.

"Of course I will," he said softly. _Gods, he's so beautiful when he smiles._

"Great," Apollon beamed. "Now, maybe we should get some sleep."

Almost as if on cue, a wide yawn forced its way out of Hermes' mouth. "Good idea."

But almost as soon as he lay down, a voice hissed, **_"Master."_**

"What was that?!" Hermes yelped.

Apollon sat up, scowling. "It sounds like that stupid snake of yours."

" _Snake?!_ I don't have a snake!"

Apollon rolled his eyes. "I'll never forgive Hera for taking away your memories," he muttered.

And then Hermes remembered. "Agatha!" 

His caduceus appeared in his hand as soon as he uttered the name. Indeed, the snake called Agatha was staring at him with her tiny eyes. **_"The king has been trying to reach you, Master."_**

"Um – thanks?"

The snake gave a curt nod…snakes could nod?

Hermes shook his head at the oddness and sighed. "Well, at least he didn't just barge in here like he usually does."

When Apollon didn't answer, Hermes glanced over and saw that the blond had fallen fast asleep. With a tiny smile, Hermes slid out of bed and pulled on his winged sandals.

Seconds later, he was soaring through the air on his way to Mount Olympus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who do not know...  
>  _Nemesis_ is the goddess of retribution and indignation. She is sometimes referred to as the mother of Helen (as in Helen and Paris of Troy) and, as one might imagine, was not very approving of the couple.  
>  _Nyx_ is the personification of night. She is one of the first elemental deities, and gave birth to the Fates and many others.


	14. Love the Way You Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title was, of course, inspired by Rihanna's and Eminem's _Love the Way You Lie_.

"Welcome back!" Dionysus crowed, bouncing into Hermes' room just as the messenger finished unpacking his clothes.

Hermes straightened up and grinned. "Thanks."

The grin grew wider. "I got you a welcome-back present, buuuut…" He dug around in his wine-colored robes. "I can't remember where I put it…"

So Hermes waited patiently while his younger brother dug into every fold of his robes. Finally, the violet-eyed god exclaimed, _"Aha!"_

He pressed into Hermes' hands a rather plain-looking mirror.

"Um – thanks?" He gazed at his own confused reflection.

Dionysus chuckled at him. "It's not just a mirror. It's a _magic_ mirror!"

"Is it going to tell me how sexy I am?" His reflection began to smirk.

"No," Dionysus beamed. "It's going to show you whatever – or _whomever_ – you want to see."

That caught his attention. "Really?"

"Yep. Here, let me show you…" He took the mirror out of Hermes' hands and cleared his throat. "Mirror, show me – uh—Loki."

Their reflections disappeared and were replaced by an image of Loki and Alex caught in a passionate kiss.

_"Argh!"_ Hermes shrieked, burying his face in his hands. "My eyes!"

"Stop," Dionysus said to the mirror hastily, and their reflections reappeared. He gave Hermes a sheepish look. "I guess you have to be careful when you're using it."

Hermes snorted in agreement but took the mirror back. "Show me Apollon," he ordered. And there was Apollon, leaning against a counter and chatting up the girl behind it. Dionysus snickered at the sight as Hermes scowled. "Well, this might come in handy."

"Well, not for Apollon," Dionysus said, brushing his chocolate-colored hair out of his eyes and grinning. Hermes rolled his eyes and set the mirror down on a nearby table. "Do you want to go get something to eat?"

"Sure," Dionysus agreed. "Where are we going?"

"You pick."

"I don't know – Oh!" His face brightened. "I know this place that has the _best_ wine."

"It's ten o'clock in the morning!"

"I know that."

Hermes rolled his eyes for the second time but said, "Alright, let's get going then."

***

As it turned out, the restaurant Dionysus picked out happened to be the same one that Apollon was at. Hermes wasn't sure if this was a coincidence or if Dionysus had done it on purpose. What he _did_ know was that Apollon was still talking to the girl at the counter, and that as he watched, she leaned over to put her hand on his arm in an intimate gesture. With a thunderous expression, the messenger headed towards the bar with a purposeful stride, completely ignoring the host that had been about to seat them.

"Well, what are the odds!" he exclaimed in a falsely cheerful voice upon arriving at Apollon's side. "Of all the restaurants that Dio could have picked, he chose the one you're at!"

Apollon looked surprised at first, but then his face morphed into a pleased expression. "Hello, Angelo."

Hermes was unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice any longer. "Phoebus," he muttered back with a scowl.

"Who's this?" the girl piped up, putting her hand over one of Apollon's.

Hermes saw red. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists to keep from shoving her away. "My name is Angelo," he said to her with a tight smile. For the first time, he got a good look at her face. He supposed she was pretty, in a rather conventional way.

"It's nice to meet you," she said with a smile, not noticing the displeased aura that he was emitting.

Instead of answering, Hermes grabbed Apollon's other hand. He intertwined their fingers in a manner that was obviously affectionate before pulling his lover down into a tender kiss.

Apollon's lips remained frozen beneath his, and when Hermes broke away, he saw that the blond's blue eyes were wide with shock. With a smug expression, he glanced at the girl and saw a similar expression on her face.

His mission accomplished, he said, "I'll see you later, _darling_ " to Apollon before trotting away.

Dionysus was waiting for him at a nearby table. "That was quite a show you put on," the younger god said, "but may I remind you that this is _Greece._ Homosexuality is typically frowned upon here."

"Don't start," Hermes sighed, grabbing the bottle of wine that was already sitting on the table and pouring himself a glass.

"It was so obvious that you were marking your territory," Dionysus snorted, ignoring his words. "You might as well have gone over there and peed all over him."

"That's gross," Hermes muttered before taking a large gulp of wine.

"Sorry, but it's true."

Before anything else could be said, Apollon slid into a chair at their table. Silence reigned as Dionysus fiddled with the stem on his wineglass and Apollon and Hermes stared each other down.

"Don't you trust me?" Apollon finally asked in a soft voice.

"Of course I trust you!" Hermes burst out. "But that doesn't mean I want to see other people stroking your arm and looking at you like you're a piece of meat!"

"Anie—"

"You don't realize how _hot_ you are!" Hermes ranted. "You might think that you're just talking to some girl, but the girl is thinking, 'Whoa, I'd love to get him between the sheets'."

"Anie—"

"And I know that it's irrational, because you would never cheat on me, but I just needed her to know that you're taken," Hermes finished, taking a deep breath.

A smile spread across Apollon's face, and he didn't say anything else.

Dionysus tipped a wink at Hermes, who grinned back at him.

They ate their meal in companionable silence.

***

Two months passed, and Hermes once again settled into the routine of Mount Olympus. Delivering messages kept him busy enough, but every now and then the soul of a deceased mortal would become lost on their way to the Underworld, and Hermes would be sent to help them find their way.

He was quite happy with the way things were going.

He spent most of his free time with Loki and Alex, and saved the nights for Apollon, when he and his lover would stay up talking – when, of course, they weren't having passionate sex.

He only saw his siblings at breakfast and whenever he bumped into them at the palace – his father, aunts, and uncles were seen more often as they tended to send more messages than the younger gods. He developed personal relationship with both Hecate and Persephone, and looked forward to seeing them on his trips to the Underworld.

He had begun to miss having long conversations with Dionysus and even Ares, so when he walked into his room one night and found them both kicked back on his couch, a grin spread across his face. "Hey!"

"Hey, Hermes!" Ares returned, surprisingly jovial.

"What's up?" Dionysus added, fishing around in the bag of Doritos that was resting between him and their brother.

"Well, I discovered today that Persephone is planning on opening her own Farmers' market," he said as he shrugged off his jacket. "Hegemone and Demeter are going to help her."

"Really?" Dionysus leaned forward, looking interested.

Hermes stared at him for a moment before remembering that his younger brother was also a vegetation god. "Yeah. Apparently Karpo and Gaia wanted to help, but they're both too busy."

"I want to help, too!" Dionysus said. "Sounds like fun. We should ask Poseidon, too. He could water things."

Hermes cracked up with laughter at that. The image of Poseidon with a watering can was rather amusing.

"Vegetation gods are so dull," Ares snorted. "Why would you want to stand around waiting for food to grow? It's much easier to go hunting."

Hermes and Dionysus ignored him.

"Do you want to help?" Dionysus asked the messenger.

"No thanks," Hermes said with a grin, perching on the arm of the couch. "I'm not much into vegetables."

"That's my boy!" Ares said heartily, slapping him on the back.

"It's not just vegetables!" Dionysus said, still not acknowledging Ares. "There'll be fruit, too!"

"I know," Hermes said. "I just don't think I'll have the time."

"Or maybe you want to stay home and make out with your blonde boyfriend," Ares said with a roguish grin.

"That too," Hermes agreed. "I don't see him enough as it is."

"You hang out with him every night!" Dionysus pouted. "You _never_ talk to us anymore."

Hermes opened his mouth to argue, but found that he didn't have anything to say. Dionysus was right: He didn't see much of his siblings these days. "I'm sorry."

"Stop trying to make him feel bad," Ares said to Dionysus. "It's not his fault he's busy."

"He should still make time for his family!" Dionysus fired back.

Ares stuck his tongue out, and for the first time, Hermes saw that his eldest brother had a tongue piercing.

"Could you guys clear out of here, please? I think I'm going to go to bed early."

"Isn't Apollon stopping by?" Dionysus asked.

Hermes shook his head. "He's busy. The Muses wanted him to DJ at some party they're throwing."

"Those girls sure know how to have fun," the violet-eyed god said with a laugh. "I should hang out with them more often." He stood up, and Ares followed suit. "See you later."

"Good night," Hermes bid.

Once they had left, he began to tidy up the room. He picked up the bag of Doritos that Dionysus had left behind, rolling up the top and setting it on a nearby table. He set his winged sandals in the closet, scooped up an armful of dirty clothes, paused, shrugged, and then threw them in after the shoes. Lastly, he picked up empty cans and bottles that were scattered about the room and tossed them in the trash can.

Job done, he headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he'd moved back in, Hestia had given him a tube of toothpaste that she had made herself. It tasted like nectar, yet somehow left his breath smelling minty fresh.

When he had finished scrubbing his teeth, he leaned over the sink to spit and rinse his mouth.

When he looked back up, he let out a gasp. Someone was standing behind him.

"Eros?! What are you doing here?"

It was indeed the love god who was hovering over his shoulder. His face was blank, but was as beautiful as ever.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Hermes repeated, not daring to turn around and face him directly.

His lips barely moved as he whispered, "I had to see you."

"Why?" Hermes whispered back.

Eros had moved closer still, and his warm breath tickled Hermes' ear as he breathed in his sensuous voice, "I think I'm in love with you."

"Really?" Hermes breathed back. His mind was clouded; any remnants of rational thought were long gone. He forgot about Apollon, about the siblings who had just left, about Loki and Alex, and even about Zeus. The only people who existed were Eros and him.

Eros took a step closer, his chest pressing against the messenger's back, and Hermes was hyperaware of every inch of their bodies that were now touching.

_"Really."_

It was like someone flipped a switch inside him; his whole body began to burn with need. "I love you too," he said without thinking.

Eros's hands were on his shoulder's before Hermes could register the movement, twisting him around until they were chest-to-chest, and before he knew what was happening, their lips were molded together.

The kiss was soft, tender, and slow – quite unlike Apollon's rough, passionate kisses that always seemed so hungry.

He was dimly aware of being pushed onto a bed and his clothes being pulled off. He buried his face in a pillow to stifle moans of pain that soon turned into passion. Fingertips dug into his hips, frantic open-mouthed kisses were placed on his skin as his back arched and his toes curled.

Release came fast, and in a matter of minutes, Hermes was left alone in his room. He didn't lay awake to comprehend what had just happened; his body was spent.

Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

***

It's odd how we forget things we wish to remember, and remember things that we would love nothing more than to forget.

Hermes experienced the latter when he awoke the following morning with a groan. Not only did he remember; he remembered in crystal clear detail.

His lower region was so sore that it was impossible to walk without a limp. It was in that manner that he made his way to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. All the while, there was an ominous buzzing in his head – the kind we get when we've made a mistake of catastrophic proportions.

He walked to the Great Hall with robotic motions and took a seat between Alex and Loki. Rather than greet them, he stared down at the table with glazed eyes.

Alex and Loki glanced at each other. Alex put down his fork. "What's wrong?"

"I did something stupid last night," Hermes muttered.

"Like what?"

"I – I slept with Eros."

_"What?!"_ Loki screeched, attracting the attention of everyone at the table.

Hermes couldn't bring himself to care, but Alex shushed his friend before hissing, _"Why did you do that?!"_

"I don't know," Hermes said in an emotionless voice.

"Are you _crazy?!_ " 

His voice finally cracked when he said, "I don't know what happened. What if – what if Apollon finds out?"

"Don't tell anyone else!" Loki said immediately. "If no one else knows, there's no reason he should ever find out."

"But he's the god of truth," Hermes said with despair. "He can tell when people are lying."

"You won't be lying," Loki said. "You'll just be withholding the truth."

"But shouldn't people in love be honest with each other?"

Alex snorted. "Not about stuff that's going to get you in trouble."

Hermes sighed and looked down the length of the table. Luckily, Apollon was nowhere to be seen.

Alex and Loki glanced at each other, and silently agreed to drop the subject.

They finished breakfast in uncomfortable silence.

***

Hermes had been in the middle of a quiet discussion with Zeus when a loud voice shook the entire palace. _"Hermes!"_

Hermes froze in place.

Zeus's regal face became confused, and he looked at the messenger for an explanation.

The visitors in the throne room began to chatter nervously when it happened again: _"Hermes!"_ Although fights amongst the Olympian family were not unheard of, most people had never witnessed one. 

Queen Hera, in her place next to Zeus's throne, was the only one present who seemed unperturbed.

The room's double doors flew open with a loud _crash_ , and Apollon stormed in. Hermes had never seen such undisguised hate on a person's face. The visitors scattered away from the furious god; it was obvious that his rage was barely under control.

Zeus looked more baffled than ever, but wisely remained silent. Hermes had the sudden urge to hide behind his father's throne.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hera said coolly. She was no fonder of Apollon than she was of any of her husband's illegitimate children.

In spite of himself, Hermes felt a grudging respect for the queen's bravery. He didn't think many people would have the courage to confront Apollon when the god was in such a rage.

Apollon ignored his stepmother. His eyes swept the room, and Hermes shrank back, knowing full well what – or rather, _who_ – the wrathful god was looking for.

Apollon's eyes settled on Hermes, and the messenger felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The blond spoke only one word, but it was weighted down with a coldness that made it ten times worse than anything he might have yelled.

"Why?"

For the second time that morning, he answered honestly. "I don't know."

There was no response, and Hermes glanced up to meet Apollon's eyes. He immediately wished he hadn't.

The blue orbs were swimming with rage and betrayal and his face was stricken with hurt. Hermes was hit by such a powerful wave of guilt that he found himself reaching out to grab the back of his father's throne for support.

Finally, he spoke. "You don't know _what?_ "

"I don't know what happened!"

"Are you telling me," Apollon said, his voice dripping with barely-contained fury, "that you slept with someone else and don't even have an _excuse_ for why you did it?!"

"Ehrm – yes?"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Apollon let out a cry of anger and swooped forward. Hermes scrambled backwards, ducking behind Hera's throne for cover.

The queen stood up, looking every bit as angry as Apollon. "This is a disgrace!" she shouted, grabbing the enraged blonde by the back of his robes and holding him in place. "You are gods, not common ruffians! If you insist on fighting, then you will take it _outside._ You are causing a scene with your ridiculous shenanigans!"

Hermes might have found the speech funny in any other situation. Apollon didn't give him time to laugh; he grabbed the messenger by the ear and dragged him out of the room, ignoring the open-mouthed visitors that they passed along the way.

He shoved Hermes against a nearby pillar. _"Tell me why!"_

"I can't tell you why because I don't _know_ why!" Hermes shouted. "I wish I _knew_ why!"

Apollon's lips were pulled back from his teeth in a snarl. Hermes – or rather, Angelo – had always known that Apollon was a jealous god, but he never thought that he would experience the jealousy firsthand. It was a frightening thing to behold. "I knew something like this would happen! You just can't help yourself, can you? Relationships are just too boring for the Number One Olympian stud!"

Hermes knew it would be pointless to argue. Apollon wouldn't listen to a word he said.

"The worst part is that I can't predict when these things are going to happen!" he raged on. "Every time I try to pull up a vision with Eros in it, all I can see is fog. It's like having a bad connection!"

Hermes thought about what the Fates had said; that Eros didn't have a place in his future. He wondered if that was the reason that Apollon couldn't prophesize anything that concerned the winged god and the messenger. Their relationship defied destiny.

He realized that Apollon had stopped talking. The archer was glaring at him with narrowed blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice small. "I really and truly don't know what happened."

Apollon snorted in disbelief, and Hermes winced at the harshness of the sound. "You haven't given me a reason to believe a word you say, and I don't have time for liars." With that, he turned on his heel and began to walk away. Before he turned the corner, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Hermes was sure that the look on his face could have frozen the Pacific Ocean. He parted his lips and in the iciest voice that the messenger had ever heard said, "You make me _sick._ "

***

After Apollo's departure, Hermes wasted no time leaving the palace. He didn't even stop in his room to collect his things.

By the time he arrived at his apartment, he was shaking uncontrollably. The image of Apollon's hateful face kept floating to the front of his mind. It hurt to know that the hate was directed at him.

Alex was waiting for him in his living room. His friend's face was sorrowful. "We heard the whole thing," he said softly.

Hermes swallowed hard before asking, "Who's 'we'?"

"The whole pantheon," the prince admitted. Bile rose in the messenger's throat, forcing him to swallow once more.

"'The whole pantheon'?" he croaked.

Alex nodded. "Athena wanted to come," he said. "I told her that you'd rather have me here."

Hermes nodded. He didn't think he could stand Athena's logic and ethics just yet.

"It was Artemis that ratted you out," Alex continued, his expression sober. "Well, it was actually Helios. He saw what happened and told Artemis. Of course, she went running to Apollon."

"She's his twin," Hermes said quietly. "She loves him. I don't blame her for telling him." Despite his admirable words, his legs began to wobble, forcing Alex to leap forward and guide him to a chair.

"Will you – will you stay here with me?" Hermes asked, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. "I can't go back there."

"Of course," Alex said immediately, though Hermes didn't miss the worry that was in his friend's eyes.

They sat like that until darkness fell: Hermes rendered speechless by the day's events and Alex a comforting presence by his side.

***

Hermes didn't think that he could have gotten through the next month without his friend. Although they never spoke about Apollon or the breakup, he was there for the messenger to lean on when Hermes needed him the most.

There were several nights when he woke up in silent tears, and Alex would appear at his side to comfort him.

There were days when he would scream and throw things, and Alex never tried to stop him but always cleaned up afterwards.

He hadn't realized how deeply and utterly in love he was with the Greek god of light.

Whenever he thought about how he may never again see Apollon, he wanted to tear his hair out.

When he became more emotionally stable, he got his job at the post office back. Now, though, there were two places he found himself not wanting to look at: The orphanage and the house where he had met Phoebus Lambrinos.

The orphanage was avoidable; the house was not. There was someone new living there. So, reluctantly, Hermes trotted up the driveway to drop off the bundle of mail.

Before he could open the mailbox, the door flew open. Startled, Hermes took a step back – but then a smile broke out across his face.

Loki was framed in the doorway, looking as wonderfully weird as ever. He was back in the form that Hermes had first met him in, all baggy clothes, heavy eyeliner, and black-and-red hair.

"Loki," Hermes murmured, his voice choked up. He stepped forward and enveloped the small body in a hug.

Loki remained silent, but Hermes felt him returning the embrace.

"I haven't been back to Olympus since you left," the Norse god finally said, speaking into Hermes' mop of curly hair. "Neither has Apollon. He's been staying at that temple of his, Delsi or Delson…"

"Delphi," Hermes corrected, finally releasing his friend.

"Yeah, that. I've been trying to talk to him, but—"

His voice trailed off, but Hermes didn't need him to finish. Apollon, as reasonable as he was reputed to be, would not listen.

"Thanks anyway," Hermes said quietly.

Loki nodded slowly.

***

Meanwhile, at Delphi, Apollon had become a rather wrathful god.

Many tourists still visited the old temple where oracles had once been revered. It made Apollon furious that the grounds that had once been sacred were now nothing more than something to be gawked at.

After several tourists disappeared under mysterious circumstances, his family decided to pay him a visit.

"Son," Zeus began. Apollon didn't bother to look up from where he was leaning against an old pillar.

"Son," Zeus tried again. "This has got to stop. You can't keep killing innocent people."

"Why not?" Apollon said, his voice emotionless. "We killed plenty of innocent people back in the day."

Zeus didn't bother arguing with that. He tried a different tactic. "We miss you at the palace. Will you please come home?"

Apollon finally looked up and saw that his father was flanked by Athena and, surprisingly, Hera. He didn't speak.

Athena sighed and squatted down next to him. "Staying here isn't going to make you feel any better, Apollon. You should be with your family."

Apollon scoffed. "I'd rather stay here than listen to my so-called family talk about me behind my back."

"No one is going to talk behind your back because no one blames you for what happened," she said patiently. "But none of us blame Hermes, either."

"What?!" Apollon said angrily. "He's the one that-!"

"I know what he did," Athena interrupted. "What I don't know is _why_ he did it. The thing is, neither does he."

"Of course he does," Apollon sneered. "He's never been able to control his lust."

"Brother, you're not listening to me." Though her voice remained soft, her wise gray eyes were hardening. "I know that Hermes went to see the Fates, and I know that they showed him his thread. He learned from them that Eros has no place in his future."

"I know this," Apollon snapped.

"Then you should know that none of this was meant to happen," Athena snapped back. "You've been so preoccupied feeling sorry for yourself that you never stopped to consider the facts. Eros was never meant to be in Hermes' life. Hermes would never have given him a second thought if someone hadn't tampered around with Destiny."

Apollon was stunned into silence, so Athena went on. "I realized what had happened when Hermes didn't remember learning that Eros was the one that had been sending him those instant messages."

_"Acestor?"_ Apollon said incredulously. "Eros is Acestor?"

"And his arrows are the only things powerful enough to alter the course of Destiny," Hera said quietly.

At those words, Apollon felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach.


	15. The End

_"To Apollon...noble and lovely, armed with arrows dread: far-darting, Bakkhion, twofold and divine, power far diffused, and course oblique is thine. O Delion king, whose light-producing eye views all within, and all beneath the sky; whose locks are gold, whose oracles are sure, who omens good revealest, and precepts pure...thy piercing sight extends beneath the gloomy, silent night; the world's wide bounds, all-flourishing, are thine, thyself of all the source and end divine. 'Tis thine all nature's music to inspire with various-sounding, harmonious lyre: now the last string thou tunest to sweet accord, divinely warbling, now the highest chord; the immortal golden lyre, now touched by thee, responsive yields a Dorian melody."_ -Orphic Hymn 34 to Apollon

***

"It seems that I've ruined things between you and Apollon," Eros said in his silken voice. He had been waiting for Hermes just inside the messenger's apartment.

Hermes stopped in his tracks and stared at him, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"I can't say that I'm upset about it." The ethereal face hardened. "He isn't right for you."

Hermes found his voice. "And I suppose you think you _are_ right for me?" he said angrily.

Delicate eyebrows rose. Eros took a step forward. "Don't you agree with me?"

Hermes felt weak in the knees, but he was determined not to show it. "You're not doing this because you care about me," he snapped. "You're doing this because you hate Apollon."

The ancient god came closer still. His midnight-blue eyes were glinting in the dim light. "And what would you know about such things, young messenger? Your memories have been reduced to those of a nineteen-year-old mortal."

"I've been—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing. "I've been remembering things…"

Another step.

"Oh really?" the winged god whispered. His eyes were narrowing. "Then do you remember, perchance, watching your dear Apollon insult and humiliate one of the oldest gods of our religion?"

Hermes wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical or not. He opted to remain silent.

"Righteous Apollon. Beautiful Apollon. _Perfect Apollon._ " The last words were sneered, and Hermes inwardly flinched at the pure hate in Eros's rich voice. "He slayed a giant snake, and everyone decided to grovel at his perfect feet.

"Of course, since he used a bow to kill said snake, that had to make him the best archer in the history of the world," Eros went on…

_Hermes was crouched on the limb of a tree, waiting for Apollon to pass beneath him. It had become a ritual of theirs, for Hermes to surprise the archer whenever he had a message to deliver._

_"Eros!"' Apollon's melodic voice called. Hermes could tell that he was smiling._

_Glancing down, Hermes saw that Eros was indeed leaning against the trunk of his tree, polishing his beloved bow-and-arrow._

_"Lord Apollon," Eros greeted, not looking up from his bow._

_Apollon's smile became more of a smirk as he observed this. "Why do you not look at me, boy? Do you think if you stare at that bow long enough, you'll acquire the skills to use it?"_

_Slowly, Eros looked up. "What did you just say to me?"_

_Apollon's eyes were dancing with amusement. "Surely you don't think that a boy like you could have any real talent with a weapon? Look how small you are – you wouldn't have the strength to shoot it!"_

_Hermes knew that Apollon was only teasing. Eros, however, did not._

_The winged god stood up. His face was twisted with anger. "You have forgotten your place, boy. Remember which of us is elder and what our duties are. Without me, there is no you."_

_Apollon snorted. "I'll deem to remember when you prove to me that you are worthy of your status as a god. Good day, Eros."_

_With that, he turned on his heel and began to walk away._

_Hermes was the only one who saw Eros nock his bow with a gold-tipped arrow. He didn't have time to warn Apollon before the arrow went soaring through the air and pierced the young god directly in the heart._

_Apollon stumbled slightly at the impact. His eyes glazed over as the potency of the poisoned arrow took effect. Hermes scrambled down the tree to go to his friend's aid, but just as his feet touched the ground, a group of nymphs went running past. They were led by Artemis and a pack of her hunting dogs. Their gay laughter echoed through the woods._

_With a grin on his face, Eros nocked another arrow – this one was lead-tipped. He aimed for the most beautiful of the nymphs, a girl with laurel leaves woven into her hair. She fell to the ground when the arrow embedded itself in her chest._

_The nymphs screamed at the assault. Artemis whirled around just in time to see the girl fall to the ground. Her eyes sought out the attacker, but Eros had already vanished. The only people she saw were her brother, who had run to the wounded nymph's side, and Hermes, who was staring at the scene in horror…_

"I remember," Hermes said quietly. "Even if I didn't, that story is famous."

"Of course it is," Eros snapped. "And Apollon is always portrayed as the helpless victim."

Hermes wondered where Alex was. He was suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he was alone with Eros.

Almost as if she had heard that thought, Aphrodite's voice said, "In this case, he _is_ the helpless victim."

The lights snapped on, and Hermes saw that Aphrodite, Persephone, and Amphitrite were standing against the far wall of the room. All three were looking at Eros with disapproval.

Hermes had never been so glad to see them.

"What are you doing here?" Eros asked his mother and great-aunts.

"Helios and I had a little chat," a new voice drawled, and Hades stepped out of the hallway. "He felt the need to tell me that he'd neglected to mention to Artemis the reason behind your little escapade with our messenger." His dark eyes rested on Hermes for a split second for darting back to Eros.

"And what reason is that?" Eros asked.

"Don't play stupid with me, boy," Hades snapped. "You may hold power over my nephews, but not me. I would be glad to add your soul to my collection."

Eros scowled at him.

Before anything else could be said, the apartment door burst open and Apollon sprinted in with Zeus, Athena, and Hera on his heels. "He shot you with one of his arrows!" Apollon gasped at Hermes, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Oh, look who decided to grace us with his presence," Eros said with a roll of his beautiful eyes.

Apollon whirled around to face the winged god. "Shut up, you piece of scum! Release him from the spell!"

"It isn't a _spell,_ you idiot!" Eros fired back.

Zeus spoke up. "Whatever it is, the fact remains that you have veered from the course that Chaos set for you, Eros. You were meant to bring peace and harmony, not pandemonium." He sighed and snapped his fingers. Eros vanished with a small _pop._ "I'll deal with him later," Zeus muttered.

Everyone turned to stare at Hermes, who found himself feeling very self-conscious. "What?"

"What are we going to do?" Hera whispered to Zeus. The king shrugged.

"Have you forgotten that I am the goddess of love?" Aphrodite asked everyone in general. "The solution is simple."

"Then tell us what to do," Persephone said.

Aphrodite smiled wider. "As I said, the answer is simple. Hermes is already in love with Apollon. Therein lies the cure to this predicament."

"How so?" Amphitrite asked.

"All Hermes needs to do is focus on the love that he and Apollon share," Aphrodite replied. "It may take weeks, months, or years, but eventually it will work, and the bond that Eros created will break." She paused, and then added, "It is also prudent that he not see Eros anymore."

"Not a problem," Zeus grunted.

"And it will help if he and Apollon spend as much time together as possible," she continued.

"Not a problem," Apollon echoed his father.

She beamed at them. "Then this will all be solved soon."

"Joy," Hades intoned. "Can I go now?"

Persephone murmured an agreement, and the two disappeared in a flash of light.

"Let's leave these two alone," Zeus said, gesturing for his wife and sister-in-law to follow him. They did so, and Hermes found himself alone with Apollon.

That was when he noticed that his apartment had been completely redecorated. The walls had been painted, the dingy fabric furniture replaced with leather and rearranged. He stared. "What happened here?"

Alex walked through the front door just as Hermes voiced his question, and the messenger saw that his friend was looking very disgruntled. "Your aunts and sisters redecorated. And they made me drag out all the old furniture, might I add." He spotted Apollon and added, "I'm guessing you guys made up?"

"Actually, Athena and Aphrodite made up for us," Apollon said. "They found out that Eros was messing with Hermes' head."

"What a surprise," Alex said sarcastically.

Apollon ignored his words and turned to rest his eyes on Hermes. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said quietly. "I should have known that something was wrong."

"I don't blame you," Hermes said with a sigh. "I don't exactly have the best reputation, being the 'Number One Olympian stud' and all."

Apollon pursed his lips, and Hermes knew that he was trying not to laugh. "That's true."

"I'm going to head over to Loki's place," Alex piped up. "You guys could use some privacy."

"Thanks for everything, Alex," Hermes called after him. Alex waved before closing the door behind him.

Hermes and Apollon stared at each other, each waiting for the other to speak first. Hermes finally decided to break the ice. "Do you know what the scariest part of this whole thing was?"

Apollon waited.

"Seeing what my life would be like without you."

Apollon gave me a small smile. "You don't have to worry about that. I don't think there's anything that we can't work through. We've gotten in some huge fights over the century, but we were always friends again afterwards."

"How long did it take, though?" Hermes laughed. "A hundred or so years?"

The small smile turned into a full-fledged grin, the kind that showed off every one of the god's pearly white teeth. "Something like that."

Hermes took a step closer to him. "You know," he said, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "I'm not sure I could wait that long."

"You know," Apollon repeated in a low voice that made Hermes shiver, "I'm not sure I could either."

They were now nose to nose – or, more accurately, nose to chin. Hermes found himself wanting to sigh in relief at the sight of the familiar coal-black lashes, pink lips, and strong jawbone.

He reached up to run a hand through the golden curls – and then gasped. _"What happened to your hair?!"_

It had all been cut off.

Apollon raised an eyebrow at him. "You didn't notice that before?"

"I thought you had it pulled back! _Why did you cut it?!"_

He shrugged a shoulder. "I felt like a change. It had been the same for centuries."

"But—" Hermes sputtered.

A slow grin spread across Apollon's face. "You were always saying I needed a haircut."

"I – _what?!_ I've never said that!"

"Yes, you did," the blond snorted. "Maybe not very often, but still."

"I'm sure I never meant it," Hermes protested. "This goes against all the hymns, Apollon! You're defying our religion!"

Apollon laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"'To Apollon'," Hermes began to quote from memory. "'Noble and lovely, armed with arrows dread: Far darting, twofold and divine, power far diffused…'"

Apollon's eyes danced as he listened to his lover recite.

"'…and of course oblique is thine. O Delion king, whose light-producing eye views all within, and all beneath the sky; whose locks are gold…'"

He stopped abruptly and cursed to himself. "I could have sworn that said something about long hair."

Apollon's eyes were still sparkling merrily, but he said nothing.

"Okay," Hermes said, sounding more frustrated than ever. "What about all the vase paintings and statutes? You had long hair in all of those."

"And you're naked in all of yours, but that doesn't mean you walk around like that," Apollon countered with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Hermes thought that he might be a bad influence on the older god.

"Fine," Hermes sighed. "Keep your stupid short hair."

"You know," Apollon said thoughtfully. "You have a lot more hymns than I do. It's not really fair."

"Maybe," Hermes said, still sounding grumpy. "But yours are a lot nicer."

"That's not true," Apollon contradicted, and began to quote, "'Hermes, draw near, and to my prayer incline-'"

Not to be outdone, Hermes began to quote at the same time, "'Tis thine all nature's music to inspire—'"

"'—messenger of Zeus and Maia's son divine—'"

"'—with various-sounding, harmonizing lyre—'"

"'—prefect of contests, ruler of mankind, with heart almighty and a prudent mind—'"

"'—now the last string thou tun'ft to sweet accord—'"

"'—celestial messenger of various skill, whose powerful arts could watch Argos kill—'"

"'—divinely warbling now the highest chord.'"

Apollon stopped and blinked. "Alright. You win."

"Told you so," Hermes grumbled. "People adore you. Eros was right about that much."

Apollon scowled at the mention of Eros but quickly recovered. He teased, "I think it's my butt. You know…it's just so round."

Hermes chuckled, and then, quicker than a flash, flew behind Apollon and smacked his bottom. "I think 'perky' is a better word."

Apollon looked gobsmacked. "Perky?! I'm not a girl!"

The chuckles turned into full-blown laughter. "I didn't say you have perky breasts! Why would having a perky butt make you a girl?"

Now the blond shifted uncomfortably, and Hermes decided to change the subject for his sake. He shot Apollon a wide smile, showing every one of his teeth. His eyebrows turned up even further, creating a very impish image. "Let's not keep standing around in the middle of the room," he said, wagging his eyebrows. "How about we head to the bedroom? You know, to _focus on our love_ and all that?"

Apollon crossed his arms and raised a golden eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain that when Aphrodite said that, she meant it in a completely platonic way."

The mischievous grin widened. "I'm not so sure about that. I mean, isn't she the goddess of desire?"

"Yes," Apollon said in a delicate voice. "What does that have to do with us?"

The smile fell slightly as Hermes rolled his eyes. "Are you really that dense? Do I need to strip and give you a lap dance before you get my point?"

Now it was Apollon who had a large grin on his face. "I'm not sure about a lap dance – but the stripping might be nice."

Hermes began to walk towards his bedroom. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder and with a wink said, "Then get your perky butt in here."

***

Hermes awoke the next morning to find that sometime during the night, he had wrapped both of his arms around Apollon. When he looked up at his lover's face, he saw that the sapphire eyes were already gazing back at him.

"Good morning," the blond whispered.

"'Morning," Hermes yawned back, untangling himself from Apollon and reaching up to run a hand through his wild black hair.

Apollon sat up as well, and golden curls tumbled over his shoulders.

It took Hermes a second to process the sight.

"Your hair grew back!" he finally exclaimed.

Apollon laughed at the expression on his face. "Yes, it did."

"How?!"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not," Hermes admitted. "Still – how weird."

The smile dropped and Apollon rolled his eyes before throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. "Just yesterday you were complaining about it being short. Make up your mind."

"I'm not complaining about it being long again!" Hermes hastily explained. It was too early in the morning for one of Apollon's infamous hissy fits. "It's just that for a normal person, it would take years for hair to grow back to that length."

"I'm not a normal person," Apollon said shortly, pulling on jeans that hugged his hips in a manner that should have been illegal.

Hermes crawled across the small bed. Balancing on his knees, he rested his hands on Apollon's warm shoulders and met the archer's gaze. "Would you please listen to me?" he pleaded. "I honestly don't care if your hair is short or long. It's you I love."

"Fine," Apollon muttered. "I still wish you would pick an opinion and stick to it, though."

"Fine," Hermes retorted. "You want my opinion? I prefer it long. _There._ That's final." He paused and then added as an afterthought, "Although, the short haircut did start to grow on me…"

_"Argh!"_ Apollon cried out in frustration. "You're _unbelievable!"_

Hermes fell back on the bed, laughing all the while. "I'm joking! Joking!"

"You'd better be!" the blond declared, but his lips were beginning to curve into a smile. He sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows.

They were silent for a while before Hermes said, "You know what I just realized? Whenever we sleep together, it's always in my bed. I think we should stay at your place for a change."

"That's a lovely idea," Apollon said, his voice dry. "I'm sure you, me, Loki, and Alex would all be very happy together."

"Oh," Hermes said. His voice was sheepish. "I forgot Loki was living there now." Then he brightened. "I bet a threesome would be fun!"

Apollon turned to face him, his expression aghast. "Did you actually just say those words?"

"Why not?" Hermes insisted. "I bet Loki would say yes."

Apollon's mouth opened and closed several times before he was able to speak. "I don't care what he would say. It's not going to happen. Not after the last time."

Now it was Hermes' turn to do his best impression of a fish out of water. "We did it before?"

"I suppose it wasn't so much a threesome," Apollon corrected, "as it was tag-teaming. I'm not proud of it."

_"What?!"_

"We were both very young," Apollon went on. "At least we got two beautiful sons out of it."

"Sons?" Hermes squeaked.

"Yes. Unfortunately their mother didn't live to see them grow up. She was foolish enough to compare herself to my sister."

"Artemis killed her," Hermes guessed, and Apollon hummed in confirmation.

Hermes shook his head. Most people learn something new every day. He, on the other hand, learned something new about _himself_ every day.

"How many children do I have?" he heard himself ask.

Apollon looked surprised at the question, but then his expression became thoughtful. Hermes heard him counting under his breath before he finally said, "Thirty-three."

"What?!" Hermes squeaked again. He briefly thought that if he kept having revelations of these proportions, his voice would go up four octaves and stay there permanently.

"Most of them are dead," Apollon said with a shrug. "The majority of them were mortal."

"Oh," Hermes said, not knowing what else to say. "Well, how many do you have?"

He was surprised to see Apollon, normally so stoic, blush. He mumbled something under his breath, and Hermes had to lean forward to hear it.

"Forty-five or fifty."

The messenger's jaw fell open. "And you called _me_ the stud of Olympus! Hypocrite!"

For once, the archer didn't argue. It would be pointless to try, as Hermes was speaking the truth, and Apollon couldn't deny it.

They were silent for several moments before Hermes finally spoke. "So…does that mean that there are a bunch of little Apollon's running around somewhere?"

"Maybe," Apollon muttered, still looking downcast. "The only son I was really close to was murdered by our father. In turn, I killed the Cyclopes so that they couldn't make any more thunderbolts. I got banished from the heavens for that."

"Are you talking about Asclepius?" Hermes asked softly. Apollon gave a slow nod.

"I bet he looked just like you," Hermes said, not knowing what made him say those words.

"Some thought so."

"Did you?"

A small smile. "I always thought he looked more like his mother."

"Is she still alive?"

For the second time in less than an hour, Apollon looked shamefaced. "No. Er—she was foolish enough to sleep with another man whilst carrying my child."

"Artemis killed her," Hermes guessed again, this time with a small shake of his head.

"Mhm."

"But you rescued the child?"

"I felt bad for him," Apollon admitted, looking both amused and abashed at his own actions. The expression was so charming that Hermes found himself leaning forward to press a kiss to his lover's soft lips.

"What was that for?" Apollon murmured with his eyes half-closed.

"Do I need a reason to kiss you?"

"No," was the answer. "But I might need a reason for why you're not still doing it."

Hermes smiled and leaned forward to continue the kiss.

***

"I have something for you!" Apollon crowed, bursting into Hermes' room at Mount Olympus.

The messenger looked up from his conversation with Loki and saw that the older god was carrying a massive box that barely fit through the doorway.

"You brought me a great big box?" He tsked and said, "Shame on you, Apollon. You know I prefer great big triangles."

For once, Apollon ignored his lover's banter. He set the box down on the floor, and Hermes was sure that he felt the floor shake. Loki must have felt it too, because he looked at it with a raised eyebrow and drawled, "What exactly is in this great big box, Pandora?"

"Pandora's Box was not a box, you fool," Apollon said, but there was still a smile on his face. "And I'm glad you asked."

With a flourish, he pulled open the box. Hermes and Loki leaned forward, and Hermes let out a gasp of pleasure.

The box was filled to the brim with large paintings and drawings, all of which were in pristine condition, despite having been stuffed in the same container.

"I didn't know you paint," Hermes said in awe, reaching in and pulling out the painting on top.

"I mentioned it the first time you came to my house," Apollon reminded him as he retrieved another painting and held it up. It was a portrait of Loki and Hermes, done millennia ago. The two tricksters were portrayed lounging under an apple tree, both with impish smirks on their faces. "But then you cut your hand open, so I suppose I don't blame you for forgetting.

"I remembered that you asked me what Asclepius looked like, so I figured I'd show you."

He showed them yet another painting, one done in such ornate detail that it looked more like a digital photograph. Hermes thought that the subject was attractive in a rather unconventional way. His hair was white-blonde like Zeus's, his face was chiseled like Apollon's, and Hermes felt sure that his pointed chin must have been inherited from his mother. His crimson eyes and the snake wrapped around his shoulders gave the painting a dark aura. "He does look just like you," Hermes said after a moment of silence, and Loki nodded in agreement. "I would have loved to meet him."

"I would have loved for you to meet him too," Apollon said in a quiet voice. "Oh, here's one of you and Dionysus…"

This time it was a drawing he displayed, and Hermes found himself gazing at an image of him and a small boy who only vaguely resembled the Dionysus he knew today. They were both grinning broadly.

"Are there any more of me?" Loki asked, not paying the drawing any attention.

"I think there's one more," Apollon said, rummaging through the paintings and finally letting out an, "Aha!"

The only resemblance between the man in the painting and the Loki currently standing in the room was the wicked expression on his face that the messenger was so familiar with. He was older – there were fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. His fingers were held up as though he had been snapping them.

"I think you should let me hang this up in your house," Loki said, sounding dead-serious. "It's going to waste, just laying around in a box."

Apollon ignored him. "Here's another one of you, Hermes."

The messenger let out another gasp. The painting in front of him was exquisitely done.

The Hermes in the painting was sitting in a field, one hip against the ground and legs jutted out to the side. His caduceus was gripped in both of his hands, the bottom end against the ground and the wings pointing up towards the sky. He wore a thigh-length, snowy-white chiton. There was a belt around his waist and a flute around his neck. The winged band rested on his jet-black hair, and his winged sandals looked ready for flight. His eyes matched the green of the grass beneath him.

Even Loki was staring in awe.

"It's beautiful," he finally croaked.

Apollon smiled. "It's beautiful because you're beautiful."

"No," Loki said, shaking his head. "I think you're just really talented, Blondie."

"Thanks a lot, Loki," Hermes said with a roll of his eyes. "That makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside."

"Aw, Herms," Loki grinned. "You know I think you're hot."

"Actually, I didn't," Hermes laughed. "But thanks. Oh, that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you—"

Apollon's eyes narrowed. _"Don't say it!"_

"—how you would feel about a threesome," he finished.

The blond groaned and turned away. Loki's eyes instantly fell to his butt, and he smirked. "Are you kidding? I'd _love_ one."

"Too bad," Apollon snapped, still not facing them, "because it's not happening."

"Okay then," Loki said, eyeing Hermes up and down. "How about a twosome?"

Apollon whirled around, his eyes flashing.

"I'm kidding!" Loki said hastily, backing away from the infuriated archer. "I would never do that…"

"Yes you would," Apollon snarled. "It happened before, did it not?"

_"What?!"_ Hermes squeaked for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"That was different," Loki protested, not even sparing the messenger a glance. "You weren't dating each other then."

"Still," Apollon snapped. "You should have known that he was _mine._ "

Hermes vaguely thought that he should probably make some sort of speech about how he wasn't Apollon's – or anyone's – property, but he couldn't find the will to do so.

"I _did_ know that!" Loki said earnestly. "There's just something about him. Couldn't help myself."

To Hermes' surprise, Apollon agreed. "I know."

They both turned and proceeded to scrutinize him like he was a high-priced piece of meat. He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…"

"I think it's his eyes," Loki finally declared, and Apollon nodded in agreement.

"Great," Hermes said. "Now that we have that settled…"

"I think you should paint another picture of me!" Loki declared, and Hermes snorted at his friend's inability to stay on one topic for more than five minutes.

He was even more surprised when Apollon readily agreed.

A snap of Loki's fingers later, and Apollon was sitting in front of an easel with paintbrush in hand, and Loki was sitting on a stool making the most ridiculous faces that Hermes had ever seen.

***

"It's strange, isn't it," Hermes sighed late one night.

It was a weekday, and he had just finished delivering the day's messages. Now he was sitting in a chair next to Apollon, surrounded by his family. Council had just ended, but no one had felt like going to bed yet.

"What's strange?" Dionysus asked lazily. He was sitting directly across from the messenger, feet propped up on the coffee table, much to Hestia's chagrin.

"Less than a year ago, I had no idea any of you guys existed," Hermes explained. "You were just a fairytale in my mind. And now, here I am, in a palace in the sky, surrounded by the family I've always wanted."

"You've always been a part of our family," Ares pointed out, blunt as always. "You just don't remember it."

Athena slapped him on the arm. "You're so tactless."

Zeus leaned forward with a smile on his face. "I'm glad you feel that way, son. Most people that come to live here end up wanting to move out within a month."

"It's not always easy," Hermes admitted with a slight laugh, and Apollon squeezed his hand gently. "I know it probably never will be easy, but it's my life now. And I like it."

"What's your favorite part?" Aphrodite asked. Surprisingly, she was sharing a chair with Hephaestus. The blacksmith looked more surprised by the situation than anyone else.

Everyone, even Hera, looked towards Hermes with interest, waiting to hear his answer.

He paused before smiling. "I already answered that. My favorite part is the fact that I finally have a family."

Everyone seemed satisfied with the response and went back to doing their own thing.

"That was a nice speech," Apollon murmured in his ear.

"I meant every word of it," Hermes replied, gazing around at the Olympians. He realized that he had come to love every single one of them over the period of time that he'd been there. They all had qualities that made them special.

He looked across the room at Dionysus, whose lively eyes were the color of finely aged wine, and at Athena, whose gray orbs spoke of years of wisdom, and then at regal-looking Zeus.

To the king's right, Hera was as lovely as always, with her fine clothes and luscious tresses. Ares was in his mother's shadow, his dark eyes smoldering even though his face was lined with exhaustion. Mighty Poseidon, the Earth-shaker, spoke in a low voice to motherly Hestia and beautiful Demeter, neither of whom looked happy to be near him. He gazed at Aphrodite and Hephaestus, holding hands and whispering in each other's ears.

And then he looked to his right and met Apollon's loving eyes. He let a slow smile spread across his face.

For the first time in nineteen years, he knew that he was somewhere he belonged.

  
_"To Hermes...Hermes, draw near, and to my prayer incline, messenger of Zeus, and Maia's son divine; prefect of contests, ruler of mankind, with heart almighty, and a prudent mind. Celestial messenger of various skill, whose powerful arts could watchful Argos kill. With winged feet 'tis thine through air to course, O friend of man, and prophet of discourse; great life-supporter, to rejoice is thine in arts gymnastic, and in fraud divine. Dire weapon of the tongue, which men revere, be present, Hermes, and thy suppliant hear; assist my works, conclude my life with peace, give graceful speech, and memory's increase."_ -Orphic Hymn 28 to Hermes

**End**   



	16. Epilogue

_"I've learned that waiting is the most difficult bit, and I want to get used to the feeling, knowing that you're with me, even when you're not by my side."_

-Paulo Coelho, _Eleven Minutes_  


***

_"Hermes!"_ a voice screeched.

Hermes, who was currently sitting on his couch in front of several stacks of newly-sorted mail, peered up over the rim of his glasses.

Loki had just materialized in his room, and a grin was spread across his face. His dark eyes were dancing.

"Loki," Hermes returned the greeting. "Haven't seen you in awhile. What's up?"

_"Alex asked me to move in with him!"_ Loki shouted, doing a strange sort of jig that made him look as though he was trying to bat something out of the air.

"That's good," Hermes murmured, shifting through a few envelopes. His voice had become absent-minded – there was still a pile of mail that needed to be sorted, and he wanted to get done as soon as possible.

"It's _better_ than good!" Loki cried, and to the messenger's horror, he leapt onto the coffee table, sending the stacks of mail that Hermes had spent so much time on flying _everywhere._

_"Loki!"_ Hermes screamed. His green eyes flashed furiously as he jumped to his feet.

Loki stopped dancing and jumped off the table with cat-like grace. He looked at Hermes, and then his eyes darted to the mail that was now scattered about the room. "Oops," he said, looking back at the messenger with a sheepish expression. "Uh—was that stuff important?"

"No," Hermes said sarcastically. His hands slid into his hair, brushing it back in frustration. "No, it wasn't important at all. Just letters for gods in six different pantheons, leaders of fifteen different countries, and hundreds of other people that my family likes to stay in touch with. No big deal."

Before Loki could start apologizing, the door opened and Dionysus poked his head into the room. "Whose dulcet tones am I hearing?" he teased. "I thought the roof was going to start falling down –whoa." He stepped inside and stared around with a raised eyebrow. "Looks like someone needs to go on a bit of a cleaning spree." He shot Hermes a mocking grin.

Hermes scowled at his little brother, resisting the urge to throw the nearest object at his head. " _I_ didn't do this, but thank you _so much_ for the suggestion. Maybe the person responsible should do the cleaning." With that, he shot Loki a scathing look.

"Lighten up, Herms," Loki snorted. "It's just mail."

With a strangled cry, Hermes vaulted over the coffee table. He had the Norse god in a chokehold a split second later. _"Say you're sorry!"_ he snarled.

Loki merely giggled, apparently amused by the situation.

"Hermes—" Dionysus started, but didn't get a chance to finish the sentence.

"Hermes, don't kill him," an amused voice said. "As hilarious as I would find it, you know Dad's rule about slaughtering people in the palace."

Hermes let out an annoyed sigh but released Loki. He turned his emerald glare to the smiling Apollon. "I wasn't going to slaughter him. Just – ah— _maim_ a little."

Apollon only smiled wider as he gazed back at his lover. If Hermes could have seen himself at that moment, he might have understood why. The messenger was dressed in black jeans and a rumpled red t-shirt. His black hair was sticking up in every which direction from the many times that Hermes had run his hands through it, and his dark cheeks were flushed in anger. His glasses had been knocked askew.

Apparently Dionysus, who had also been eyeing Hermes' ruffled appearance, also found the sight endearing. "You're such a cutie," he crooned. "I wanna pinch your cheeks."

"Don't," Hermes advised him with a half-hearted glare. He pulled his glasses off and looked around with a sigh. "What a mess. That only took me five hours, you know."

"I'm sorry," Loki murmured, and he actually looked like he meant it.

"'S'okay," Hermes muttered.

"I'll help you re-sort it," Apollon offered.

Hermes rested his eyes on his lover, who was also looking unusually disheveled. His blond hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and instead of his usual designer clothes, he had opted for a pair of faded jeans and black t-shirt. "Weren't you supposed to go hunting with Artemis?"

"I was, but she had to do something else," he shrugged.

"My wife asked her for archery lessons," Dionysus said. "No idea why."

Apollon opened his mouth, perhaps to complain about his sister ditching him for such a ridiculous reason, but Hermes cut him off by pulling his head down and pressing a swift kiss to his lips. "I would love it if you helped me," the brunette murmured, proceeding to dig his face into the older god's chest.

Dionysus and Loki glanced at each other, and, by silent agreement, they both quietly left the room.

Neither of the other gods noticed.

"I'm so _tired,_ " Hermes complained, his voice muffled by Apollon's shirt. "You should beat up Loki for me. He _ruined_ my beautiful mail."

Apollon chuckled. "Maybe I'll beat him up later. In the meantime, we should get started." He stepped away and picked up the nearest envelope. It was addressed to Odin. "Did you have a stack for the Aesir?" he asked, and Hermes murmured a yes.

The pair spent the next several hours re-sorting the scattered mail. Apollon demonstrated his sublime intelligence by devising new ways in which to organize the various letters, and Hermes smiled, remembering how much he adored the blond's brilliance.

When the room got too quiet, Hermes dug out his iPod and hooked it up to his speaker system. Seconds later, _Not Gonna Die_ by Skillet was blaring through the room, and Hermes danced along to it, singing as he scooped up the last few envelopes. Apollon, who had just finished straightening up the pile of letters that would all be delivered to England, watched him with a trace of amusement. "You do realize that this barely counts as music, right?"

Hermes tried to scowl at him but ended up smirking. "Shut up and let me enjoy my trashy music, Apollon! Dance with me?"

Apollon snorted and shook his head. "I refuse to disgrace myself by dancing to such garbage."

"Come _on!_ " Hermes whined.

Apollon shook his head again and grinned when Hermes stuck his lower lip out in a pout that was more adorable than convincing.

"Dance!" the messenger demanded, stepping forward and grabbing his lover's hand. Unfortunately, Apollon was just as strong as he was, and the attempt to drag him up proved to be futile. Hermes gave up after several moments of tugging and slumped onto the couch next to Apollon, panting slightly. "You're no fun," he moped.

Apollon shot him a sidelong look. "I do plenty of other fun things," he said slyly. "You seem to enjoy it—unless those moans last night were fake…"

He let his voice trail off, and Hermes smirked at him, his green eyes glinting beneath coal-black lashes. "Wouldn't you like to know," he teased.

"I would _love_ to know," Apollon purred, and Hermes let out a laugh, realizing that the conversation no longer made sense. Instead of saying anything else, he gave the blond a seductive wink.

Apollon's lips parted slightly, and Hermes grinned. Turning him on was _so_ easy. The older god's libido hadn't decreased as he'd aged…if anything, it had done the exact opposite. "I would love to help you find out, but," Hermes gestured towards the table, "I should really start delivering all of those letters."

Apollon groaned. "What kind of person puts their job before sex?"

"The kind of person whose dad is their boss— _and_ the king of the gods." He wrapped his arms around Apollon's slender waist and pressed kisses to his neck. "I'll be back soon. I promise," he murmured against his skin.

Apollon let out a dramatic sigh, burying his face in his lover's mop of curly black hair. "Fine."

The impish grin was back on Hermes' face. "Don't miss me _too_ much," he teased, "or I'll have to ask Loki and Alex to keep you company."

Apollon groaned again, even louder than before. "Don't do that. You might stop liking me if I killed your best friends."

"What happened to not slaughtering people in the palace?"

"Dad might make an exception for me."

"You love them too much to kill them, and you know it!" His green eyes were sparkling playfully.

Apollon rolled his eyes, but his lack of denial didn't go unnoticed by Hermes, who was grinning wider than ever. "Don't you have a job to do?"

The smile faded, replaced by a tender expression. Slowly, the messenger leaned forward until his lips touched Apollon's in a light, barely-there kiss. Apollon's eyes fluttered shut. "I'll be back," Hermes whispered against his lips.

When Apollon opened his eyes moments later, the messenger and the stacks of mail were gone. The faint scent of strawberries and saffron lingered in the air. Apollon inhaled deeply, and with a slight smile, made himself comfortable on the couch.

He would wait.


End file.
